I quit smoking three days ago. Now, I know that (at least) twice before on this board I’ve declared that I was quitting: Once was about a year ago in a big thread where a bunch of us declared we’d quit, and once was I think earlier this year when someone (was it Q.E.D.? Quasimodem?) talked about quitting and I got inspired and announced that I would quit as well.
Obviously, neither of those attempts “took.” The first one lasted about a day, the second I don’t even remember.
But this time is different. It’s unlike any of my many, many past attempts at quitting; I don’t even feel like smoking. I don’t know what’s changed, but this time is permanent.
Past attempts: jackelope declares he’s quitting, spends a day or two chewing his fingernails down to the elbow, gives up.
This time: jackelope declares he’s quitting, quits.
I don’t know what’s different this time. I feel jumpy as hell (though that’s fading), but I don’t feel compelled to smoke; somehow that connection isn’t there.
I had a three-day weekend last week, and a few days before that I decided I’d quit Tuesday night/Wednesday morning. So all weekend I smoked like crazy, and Tuesday I got good and drunk and sat around smoking lots of cigarettes until I didn’t even want any more, and then before I went to bed I flushed the ones I had left.
Wednesday night I stayed home. And Thursday night (second night), I felt good enough that I went out to a bar and sat next to a gal who was smoking, and my only thoughts on the matter were, “Wow, I really should want a cigarette, but, strangely, don’t”; and “Jesus, that smells f*cking horrible; I wouldn’t kiss her with Bill O’Reilly’s mouth.”
(Something funny I’ve noticed on past, failed, attempts to quit: The first thing you notice when you get your sense of smell back is that there’s a lot of stuff in this world that smells awful.)
A passerby asked me for a light this evening. I gave him the most withering look of contempt I could muster and said, “Sorry; I don’t smoke.”
God, that felt good.
