I have not had a cigarette in eight days.
I'm only bringing this up because the smoking crew at work just got all bundled up and as they were heading out to the polluted, wet, grody smoking area downstairs they were talking about quitting and using all the same bullshit lines that smoker-me has said myself so many times:
"It's not about physical addiction, I just love it so much. I'm not ready to quit, that's all."
"It's really about learning WHY you smoke and then learning to avoid your own personal triggers."
"I don't really smoke that much anyway. Breathing the air outside is probably just as bad for me."
Now. I'm not saying that I'm quitting. Because to say that would probably send me hurtling downstairs to said grody smoking area to lick the nearest ashtray. Here's what I am saying. I got a little sick. The thought of smoking, even just my regular one a day, was absolutely revolting. So I just stopped smoking.
It's been ridiculously easy. Is this all there is to it? If so, yay! Last night, briefly I thought to myself, maybe I should smoke. Then I realized that Crown had taken the pack out with him and there were no butts in the house. Normally this would cause instant panic and end with me running out to the store in my pjs, swaering and moaning all the way and then smoking half a pack on the walk back home.
But no! Instead I was like, "Oh well." And I made tea and ate a few Halloween chocolate bars instead. Surely chocolate is better than rat poison, tar, cyonide and poo or whatever is in butts these days, right?
Anyway. Just want to share. Don't write to me and congratulate me on this, please, because as I said, I'm not quitting. Also, don't roll your eyes when you see me with a glass of red wine and butt on my roof next time you're over. Just take it for exactly what it is.
Eight smokeless days.