City of Smoke

I always thought I was in the minority being a smoker. Smoking has been demonized, and as such, the theory goes, people start quitting. This has certainly been the rule among my peers. I was one of the last real smokers standing among my friends. That’s right, I hung in there til the bitter end. I persevered through the death rattle. But now that I’ve decided enough is enough, one thing has become abundantly clear. My GOD, a lot of people in New York smoke. And it seems I’ve developed a sixth sense for spotting smokers in the 2 days I’ve been off cigarettes.

Bam, smoker against the wall next to the statue outside my office building. Hey, smoker walking down the sidewalk, no jacket or tie cause it’s so damn nice out. Oh jeez, smoker sitting on a park bench. This last one particularly killed me. How lovely it is to smoke a cigarette in a situation like that. Completely relaxed, at peace, breathing in carcinogenic pollutants.

Anyway, I’ve found myself, when I’m walking past or behind someone with a cigarette, taking big, deep breaths, on the offchance that I can get even a small whiff of that delicious fragrance. Is that cheating? Nope, I don’t think so at all. Taking a drag of a cigarette, yes, that would be cheating, but not this. And you would think it would make me want a cigarette more. But it actually satiates my appetite for that moment. I get one deep smoky breath, my lungs are full, my body satisfied. That is, until I sit back down at my desk and think to myself, “damn, I really wish I were outside smoking a cigarette.”

Aaahhhh, addiction.

Hours: 45

Pieces of Nicorette: 10

Pen caps chewed to the point of destruction: 2

 

Because if I don’t keep my hands/mind occupied right now I might burst…

I quit smoking yesterday. I tried to do this a few months ago, and failed miserably in something like 3 days, in part thanks to a presidential primary-induced drunken stupor. But this time I’m serious. Why yesterday? Well, I was smoking my second-to-last cigarette in my pack on a break from work yesterday. About 4 drags in, I actually broke the filter. Now, this occurence is not completely uncommon when, say, you are very very drunk. But in the middle of the day, without any particular overwhelming emotion causing such a forceful *flick* of the cigarette, this is close to unheard of. 

The filter was hanging by a…thread?…and I spent the next 30 seconds or so trying to hold the filter up to the cigarette so that I could get some smoke to pull through. Alas, it was not to be. Then, I kind of had one of those out-of-body experiences. I saw myself from the outside, sucking on this broken cigarette, and I decided, “that’s it. This is ridiculous. This is my last pack of cigarettes.”

So on my way home, I smoked my very last cigarette and picked up a month’s(?) supply of Nicorette. And I have to say, I felt GREAT walking out of Rite Aid. I’m gonna do it!

My first hurdle was dinner. OBVIOUSLY, the day I decide to quit smoking, Brittany wants to go to the supremely gluttonous fondue place near my apartment. Obviously. So we stuff ourselves full of chocolate, and as I walk back to my apartment, I would do just about anything (short of giving a rim job in an alley) for a cigarette. But no, I restrained, and what awaited me at home was the fresh mint shell and the slight burning sensation of my new friend, Nicorette.

I think Nicorette and I will get along just fine. But probably not as well as me and Joe Camel did. Joe Camel was rad.

Hours since last cigarette: 22

Pieces of Nicorette since last cigarette: 4

Cravings since last cigarette: How many minutes have I been awake in those 22 hours?

 

Stay tuned for more commentary on my journey to becoming a NON-SMOKER. It will most likely become much more frustrated, anxious, and full of whatever other withdrawal symptoms decide to pop up. My misery is your entertainment.