Week 1: Recap

Today marks the end of my first week without cigarettes, and I figure it makes sense to look back on how it went. I'm actually not going to attempt to be funny or entertaining here, so much as I'm trying to have a log of how this first week went and felt.

First and foremost, I've been sick all week. I know this is not coincidence, as I would catch sudden fevers and chills faster than the menopausal women around me. I'd break out into violent sweats and shiver at the same time while drinking hot coffee.

BUT, i haven't had a cigarette.

I have been an emotional wreck since the day I stopped smoking. More so than usual.
I take every single criticism said to me to heart. I've snapped on close friends, and suddenly gotten offended over long running gags that I helped come up with.

BUT, i haven't had a cigarette.

I've been impatient with everyone. I chew my gum loud and cold stare people when they talk to me. I click giant gobs of trident off my tongue and roll it around and cluck while my boss talks to me as if to say, "can you pick up the pace?"

BUT, i haven't had a cigarette.

And, I haven't been smart about this at all. I read up on "useful tips" for quitting smoking. Near the top of most the lists is, "throw out the cigarettes in your house." This time, laziness trumped ease of life (as it always does). I haven't even gotten around to cleaning the ashtray next to the computer.

After work every day I scramble past the bodega with my head down so I don't go on autopilot, pick up a carton of camel lights. Pack a pack against the back of my hand, unwrap them with my teeth, pop em open shred the tin foil, toss it all in the garbage, put it up to my lips and pull from first puff to filter in one slow unceasing breath.

I've fetishized it at this point. Everyone I see smoking, from the fingerless wonder on tv in the morning, to the waddling obese man on my way to work could be glossed up and shown to me as an ad for the joys of smoking. I watch dry mouth old buzzards of men, with yellow stained mustaches using their tongue lips and teeth to hold the cigarette in place in their mouth, and clenching their eyes as they take a drag like they're losing a piece of their soul in ever puff. It all looks wonderful to me, I can see they're happy. I can see how happy they are.

I feel like I'm running a gauntlet of temptation back to my apartment, staring at smokers and smoke shops, and walking through clouds of smoke. I close the door behind me and rinse my face, switch into pajama's then sit down at the tv, or the computer, and there they are. Half finished cigarette packs, and mostly untouched butts in the ashtray.

Stage 2: Anger

Anger — "Why me? It's not fair!"; "How can this happen to me?"; "Who is to blame?"
Once in the second stage, the individual recognizes that denial cannot continue. Because of anger, the person is very difficult to care for due to misplaced feelings of rage and envy. Any individual that symbolizes life or energy is subject to projected resentment and jealousy.

I don't want to sound too much like a whiny brat, but here's a list of things that have pissed me off since i've started to quit smoking:

1. my boss
no brainer
2. my coworkers
they don't deserve it
3. every single moron that doesn't immediately know how to use a subway turnstyle
(it fucking spins. It spins in one direction, and the ten people ahead of you gave you a perfect demonstration of what you're supposed to do. When it's your turn, please don't stick your hand out to stop it like a fan blade, then run head first at it, thereby creating a spiky wall of death which i have to dodge through to get to work tne minutes late)
4. the sick passenger on the train that delayed my morning by 12 minutes.
If i wanted traffic, i'd drive to work every morning, with an iced dunkin donuts coffee, screaming at republican radio morning anouncers and literally driving with the finger extended up and out of my window every morning. Also, I'd be smoking damnit, chain smoking one after another until i got to work looking green and smelling like a musky onion.
5. the cute girl who agreed to go out on a date with me, then proceeded to have a wonderful date
seriously i have no reason to be angry at this girl, except that even at the height of a great date, i found myself craving a cigarette while staring at her from across a dim lit table over a nice dessert.


Which brings me to my next point. Cigarettes were always exactly what i needed them to be when i needed them. These perfect little time wasters, stop watches, excuses to leave, work breaks, props.

Have 10 minutes before that next train?
light up.
Should you call and see if she's here yet?
how about you have one smoke, and call her when you're finished
Date's not going well?
first, admit you're a smoker, then leave her alone at the table for 10 minutes while you bullshit with the doorman about who was the better dumbledore (NYC doorman aren't always the toughest dudes). By the time you make it back inside she'll be more than ready to call it a night
Just finished a mildly mundane assignment for the boss?
I just sat down and did work for a solid 7 minutes... round up the troops let's stand in the blizzard and bitch about how rough work is

I just remember reaching for a cigarette and lighting up while talking shit i should never have spouted at a bar, and let the glowing ember roll back and forth in front some asshole's face while i just prayed for him to take the first swing.

I remember after a full night of all out fighting with an ex girlfriend, dropping my head and lighting up a cigarette before asking for ten minutes to talk things out like rational human beings. Lighting her up one and passing it to her like Humphrey Bogart.

And I remember again lying naked tangled in the same blanket like a two person toga, with cigarettes dangling off our lips, love in our eyes, and exchanging the solemn yet utterly retarded promise to "never fight again."


I guess it feels now like i'm not accentuating life's finer moments like i used to. Was a time after leaving a perfect date, after a perfect date on a street corner in midtown manhattan, that I'd scurry around the next corner and light up.

I'd reminisce about the great conversation, the great meal, and roll around in the ecstasy of a great night, but not this time. This time I took no more than a second to smirk about a night went well, and scurried into grand central station to catch a late train home. Not even pausing at the door for one last drag as i scurried into the warm.

Stage 1: Denial

"I feel fine."; "This can't be happening, not to me."
Denial is usually only a temporary defense for the individual. This feeling is generally replaced with heightened awareness of situations and individuals that will be left behind after death.

I hate to sound overly dramatic and I hate to demean anything so serious as death, but... quitting smoking is like watching your best friend die right in front of your eyes, even though you have the power to pull him up to safety at any time.

Now this would normally be where a smart man makes insightful and witty observations to flesh out why quitting smoking is like grieving, but really I'd rather just stick with the jarring thesis and let people disagree with me.

I have quit smoking before, loads of times. I've used patches, and nicotine gum, bubble yum, chew, dip, big league chew. I always wondered what quitting would be like without these little guys helping me out. Honestly, when the urge to smoke hits you like a solid right hook from a drunken frat boy who's girl you just pinched, it doesn't feel like anything can really help you. Not a gum, or a shot, or a kick in the nuts, just a cigarette and only a cigarette can stop you from feeling like you want to go into a blind rage and wake up on the ground in an empty lot, covered in blood, and wearing tattered purple pants.


So, this time i quit with no aids, no help, no pills. Nothing to chew, spit, slap on, shoot up, pop, or smoke, and here's the difference:

I feel like a demon has managed to set me on fire in a vat of ice water.

I'm dizzy, I'm nauseous, I literally feel my muscles bunching up all around me. My right eye is nearly popped and bloodshot, i hear loud ringing noises, and my stomach is cramped so tight i think I might be the first dude to get his period, which is good because at least I'm not pregnant.

So, what I've learned today is that those products that are supposed to help you quit smoking, don't really make it easier to actively choose not to smoke, but they do ward off curses from roving covens of sadistic witches who like to see if they can turning quitting smokers into laundry lists of viagra side effects.


Also, my entire office has been replaced with a bunch of insensitive pricks who get on my nerves. And no I'm not stupid, i know this is obviously about me quitting smoking... they're all jealous that I"m finally quitting so they've decided to become insufferable dicks.