It’s a New Year, and on the celebration of this New Year, I
said something clever. Here is a story of my cleverness:
Amos, Terra, and I were cheers-ing to 2012 and the elusive resolutions
made by most. Between the three of us, however, we came up with some neat originals
not 60 minutes earlier. We covered awesome feats like a new career, learning
tennis, and have a Cool Moments jar (writing note-worthy experiences of the year
and keeping them in the jar). Not a mumble was said about losing weight,
hitting the gym, saving some money, or quitting smoking. Those of you who are
new to the Quitter’s Log might not know this but I used to be a smoker. That’s
right, not so long ago I was puffin’ a sweet one seven times a day. But I quit
5 weeks back, and haven’t smoked at all. So an hour after the ball dropped in
New York, and the three of us were bantering about our awesome resolutions and
how atypical they are, I was all “Quit smoking: check. Did it, bitches! “ And
my friends were like “Haha. Jean. You’re funny and clever.”
As it turns out, that story kind of sucks. When I read
through it, I realize it sounds super lame (and like bragging). Come to think
of it, I’m not even sure that “clever” is an appropriate word at all. But I don’t
even care. My New Year’s resolution was not to quit smoking and it’s not because I want to continue smoking.
I quit before I turned 24 and before the calendar caught up to 2012. I feel
great about this, and don’t give three licks that my story sucked.
So, now that I’ve dulled you with a boring story and a spurt
of conceit, I’ll digress a bit on the actual significance of this post. Today,
January 2nd, 2012, marks 5 weeks. FIVE WEEKS. Mull that over, and
then spit it out quick because it is disgusting (but impressive, I know). These
have been perhaps the strangest five weeks in my living memory. I cannot express
more fully than I already have how disorienting the last month has been. But five
weeks, almost to the hour. What, what!?
On a related note, last night I said goodbye a friend as he
return to reality and I remained in the city that knows-your-name-and-traps-you-in-asinine-small-talk-for-what-seems-like-hours-when-all-you-want-is-to-pay-for-your-latte-and-get-out.
I had made it through Christmas eve, Christmas day, New Year’s eve and almost through New Year’s
day without experiencing a craving or running into a trigger that had been
strong enough to really tempt me. But here I was, in my car, alone. Not a
minute had passed since the last hug and the fond farewell to a friend. And
like an Ancient Chinese watercolor, the waves of cravings came on. The picture
of the moment was overwhelmingly represented by angry (and foamy) waves, and
what was left to be painted would barely make a stroke on the canvas. It was
unexpected, completely so. I had never even considered the sense of loss as a
trigger. But hey, there it was. Have no fear though; I made it through to the
other side without adding nicotine to the endless list of Things Consumed during
the Holidays that Are Only Okay Because It’s the Holidays.
