Did I mention that I quit smoking again?
Any by "again", I mean, "AGAIN???" and now the sight of the word "again" has lost all meaning to my brain. Wait, maybe I should specify exactly what I quit smoking here.
I quit smoking cigarettes again-again. Again. Nope, still means nothing.
Anyhow, I finally did it: I got hungover enough that the thought of smoking a cigarette made me gag for two days. (If you need to quit, too, here's the trick: smoke 4 times more than normal in 1/4 of the time and overindulge in adult beverages and lay on the couch moaning for two days )((works like a motherfucking charm, let me tell you)).
When you quit smoking, the first 2 or 3 days of abstinence are the hardest and it feels like someone has ripped a gaping hole in the back of your mind and all you can think about is stuffing that hole full of carcinogens and tobacco and sweet, smokey tendrils of vapor love. But if you're already so hungover that the though of thinking about thoughts means possibly dying and YOU ARE TOO YOUNG TO DIE,...well, then smoking isn't so high up on the list of priorities, you know?
Nevertheless, your lungs feel lonely and too-pink and there are all these random moments during the day when you're not sure what exactly you should be doing with yourself. Like, "Well, just finished up dinner and now I'll just...um...what DO non-smokers do after a meal? The circle is incomplete!"
Not smoking during those designated Cigarette Times feels remarkably similar to when you purposefully walk into the kitchen but then can't remember why you walked into the kitchen, so you just wander around aimlessly from drawer to drawer hoping it will come back to you, and eventually it does, but not until you're in the middle of taking a dump.
Everyone around you is smoking, and they all look pretty damn pleased with themselves. That guy with the cigarette in the car next to you at the stoplight? HE IS TORTURING YOU AND HE KNOWS IT. That movie you've seen 4,000 times but never really noticed before how much the actress smokes until now? THAT BITCH IS TRYING TO DESTROY YOUR LIFE. All those people at all those holiday parties who brave the icy winds and stand outside in a huddle? THEY ARE HAVING MORE FUN THAN YOU.
Tuesday night at 7:40 p.m. when we took a ten minute break from my British Lit class, the flashing neon light behind my eyes kicked on and all I could see was "CIGARETTE TIME! CIGARETTE TIME! Hurry up, it's CIGARETTE TIME!" and all my class friends filed out the door and I stood staring after them, a thin stream of drool connecting my chin to my shoes, until someone asked if I was coming and I muttered, "No, I'm trying to quit."
That, of course, elicited a chorus of "good for yous" from the smokers, but I know from experience that when they say "good for you", they really mean "better you than me, sucker."
And I spent the rest of the break walking in a circle from the water fountain to the door, not sure if I should be seated and pretend to study or if I should try to pee again or if I should get a snack or if I should just FUCKING CAVE AND BEG FOR A CIGARETTE.
Hell, when you're really desperate, a used butt from the ashtray will work just fine.
So I guess this post is my convoluted way of saying, "HOLD ME!" and "THOSE CHUNKS I COUGHED UP WERE ISHY!" and "::incoherent sobs and snortles which indicate my desperate need to suck on something deadly::!"
(Oddly enough, this is the first time I've quit while medicated and I guess I'm not exactly the most impartial judge ever, but I don't think I've been cranky or crabby or moody or violent this time.)((Can't recommend medication enough, ya'll.))