not cursing the darkness

So, it's been 48 hours and I'm doing okay. Last night Stuart went to a comic-gathering thing with Josh in W'burg and since I'm allergic to anything on the L line within three stops of Manhattan, I went to the Half King for mac and cheese with Beth and then we saw Feast of Love because we're GIRLS.

 

Here are the times I've sort of wanted a cigarette:

 

1. In the middle of the movie. When I forgot for a second and relished the thought of that light-up leaving the theatre and then remembered.

 

2. On my hands and knees scrubbing the grout in the tub. I forgot again and thought, "damn, a cigarette and a coke after this would be - oh."

 

3. After a slice of pizza with Desperate Housewives. Yep, forgot again.

 

On the whole these forgetting moments have ranked at about a 4 out of 10 on the Fucking Agonizing Cravings scale. I suspect the patch is doing its thing and giving me enough nicotine that I don't actually realize it's been a while since I've had a cigarette.

 

I decided to stop on Friday night after Stuart yet again failed to keep his opinion to himself about it as he had promised he would (and should never have promised as he's got every right to have one). I'd asked him to pick up a pack when he went to the store, he didn't want to, and that prompted him again, gently, asking me if I planned to quit.

 

When he was out, it occurred to me that the reason I've always gone BACK to smoking after a period of quitting was because after slipping, the thought of quitting again was too terrifyingly painful. So I sat, in the window ledge with a cigarette - HAH - and thought, damn, why don't I try the patch? I've never tried it before, what if it really helps?

 

When Stuart got back I said, tentatively, I wanted to go to the pharmacy in the morning and buy patches. He'd bought a pack - and told me about 30 minutes later. It was agonizing. By the time one AM rolled around, I hadn't had one for 3 hours and was going nuts, so he busted open that pack and gave me just one. It was my last. Saturday morning, we went to the store and then to brunch.

 

I will be the first to admit I don't know what I'm doing. When the Nicoderm booklet suggested I write down reasons I'm quitting on a wallet card, all I could really think to write was "because I want to know I can do it", which I've never proven before. Do I really want to stop? Obviously, some part of me does. Obviously, some part of me that adores the tiny rebellion against normalcy and mortality, a tiny rebellion I indulge every time I light a cigarette - well, that part of me hasn't gone away, so I guess if she had her way, she'd smoke forever. Maybe that's just a part of me I need to accept, like we all have to accept our drunk Uncle Ted that gropes bridesmaids at weddings.

 

But I do want to quit because I know I have to. I know I don't have a choice here, that I was always smoking borrowed time. I want to quit because I should have enough faith in myself for this one thing, if I want to do all the other things I've set my mind to. I want to quit to prove it to myself that I'm bigger than a craving, an image, a throwback to a period in my life when I really needed them.

 

This isn't about my artichoke candle holders and the beautiful glow they cast over our gorgeous apartment tonight. I guess it sort of is, though, since I look at this picture and realize how pretty and valuable the things in it are, and how much I enjoy them and other nice things, and how I want to be around and healthy and strong to keep enjoying them.

 

So, there. That's how I'm doing. I'm looking at pretty things and trying to be strong.

Done