Two full weeks without a cigarette. Life is a little
strange. The pain has mostly subsided from my jaw and I can now imagine smoking
again. Which makes the choice to remain a non-smoker that much more tedious. I feel
like my brain is cringing pretty much throughout the entire day. I managed to
go outside with Sarah today three times. I took my tootsie pop and loitered
with the smokers (which, if I am going to be honest, has always been part of
the draw, loitering that is. Nothing beats a good loitering).
The point is: Still not smoking. Yay. Maybe I still won’t be
smoking tomorrow. While I acknowledge
the fact that I have not lit up in 14 days as an accomplishment, the fact that
I don’t really want to be a non-smoker makes the whole experience kind of
bizarre. It’s like, I don’t know, I’m following the motions of quitting but
doing so resentfully. I have no one to blame but myself (a theme mentioned last
week) and I do blame myself. Every day I feel mad at myself. Kind of like how
you feel when you decide not to wear rain boots even though it’s raining. In
the morning, you can even see the rain outside your window but you think it’s
probably not that bad, that the rain will lighten up. But it doesn’t. You just
end up soaked and your toes get all crinkly and uncomfortable. It kind of ruins
your day.
Quitting smoking is like that. Every day. Every day I decide
I don’t need my rain boots. And every day it rains and rains and rains and
rains. And then it rains some more. What you think will be a three day thunderstorm
turns into a lifelong monsoon.
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