ToCreate.Art.blog

I’ve been a pack-a-day smoker for a bit over 30 years. I started at an early age, 12 to try, 15 to become a regular smoker. I quit smoking for five years, once when I was in my 30’s and going to college. Lugging a heavy backpack across campus a couple of times a day kinda makes you rethink the whole smoking thing.

I’ve also been at that age where you try to quit maybe once a year to every six months, then accept defeat and continue smoking.

Then one day you feel you might want to quit, and then you find that it is kinda pretty hard to do.

Today I am on Day 3 of not smoking. Here’s my story:

Day 1 wasn’t that bad. When you get that old feeling of wanting to smoke due to some event (ready to eat, just ate, sitting on the porch where you always smoked, etc). But you are still in the afterglow of whatever epiphany, big or small, firmly and proudly said, I am not going to light my first cigarette of the day. Right now.

I had a little bit of a craving, and my cigarettes were within reach, but I was proud and excited about the long-term reward versus this fleeting fancy for a fag. WordPress’ “Look Up…” definition, the third fag down: a cigarette.

 

Day 2 (written on Day 2): Most of the day has been good. I was busy with my NeuroSurgeon’s appointment. The wait ended up being 2 hrs 45 minutes in the waiting room, and maybe another 15 minutes within the office, before we got to have the floor with the main attraction. This evening, after having a bowl of popcorn, some carrots, pork fried rice and sweet & sour chicken, a couple of krab rangoons, and a bowl of cereal – all this food, but we’ve been home for seven hours now – I want a cigarette. Most of the times I’ve been able to shake the cravings with some dignity. A few times already I’ve wandered the rooms crying, I just want a cigarette!

 

The euphoria of nicotine withdrawal has worn off, and now I’m almost stripped of all will. There is only 1.3% of my will left, and that’s what is keeping me from lighting cigarettes, one for each of my facial orifices.

 

I have my almost-full pack right where I left it the day before. Sitting right next to me at this very moment.

…

I picked it up, my pack of cigs, then arranged it for a picture. I pulled the lid back a little bit to show the cigarettes inside. I’ve changed the format of the image to Noir. It makes a very nice contrast in black and white. Very sexy.

You know, it was just now, as I wrote this, that I realized I treated my poor cigarettes like some cheap floozy. I’ve used them, objectified them. Humiliated them. Posted their naked glory on the internet for all to see. And haven’t charged a dime.

I can make a short story into such a long one, sometimes. This was a pretty long post. I’ve now edited a couple of times because I get distracted by a topic and think I’m just going to do a small aside, but then the document becomes this looong curving conversation, digressing from my digressions. Why can’t I write just the facts, ma’am?

Because it’s fun this way.

This is what I meant to say:

• Day 1 was good, I was on target in my mind and followed my fearless willpower.
• Day 2 ended up a little harder. As long as I had a greater distraction, I had no desire to smoke. Now that I’m home, had some dinner, the craving to smoke has followed. And it has been strong. I know that’s my trigger. Stop making me substitute food for smokes, and then STILL crave a cigarette after. That’s not fair. But I guess I’m stronger than my cravings. So far.

Thank you for reading,

Lisa