Wednesday, March 04, 2009
I'm also not smoking. I wasn't going to tell anyone about this so that I wouldn't have to hear about it if I failed but it occurs to me that possibly that is just allowing myself to fail again. On the other hand, it's never bothered me before, so, whatever. I'm not smoking and it's not easy. It's been 11 days already if you don't count last Thursday night which I, personally, do not. Thursday night, you are as nothing to me. You didn't happen. Fortunately, I left my cigarettes out there on Thursday night and then they got snowed on and then the dogs ate them (don't get all PETA; they've eaten far worse things than that and been fine) so now I cannot smoke even if I want to. That's okay. It's good. And I keep telling myself that I don't want to smoke; it's just the addiction talking, telling me that I want or like or need a cigarette. Really, I don't want one. Really. I wish.
I know I've quit before, many times, but this time I swear will be it; I'm tired of sore throats and coughing and ah well, all the general things that people get tired of when they decide they don't really want to smoke anymore. The money. The smell. The embarrassing fact that hardly anybody smokes anymore and standing outside alone with a cigarette when you're in your forties is just not as cool and edgy as it was when you were in your twenties. And hey, my skin already looks better.
So I'm not smoking and I'm not drinking because I think if I drink I'll smoke and thus, I have nothing whatsoever to do in the evenings except read bad novels, bake - yeah, yeah, I'm a stress baker, it's weird; I just mailed young M some banana chocolate chip bread - and sniffle about my misspent life. This is getting old. I need some kind of new thing to do after work and before bed. Last night I did this drawing and the night before that I watched Hellboy II, which was awesome, but still, there is some kind of void here that needs filling.