Thank You For Smoking.
In roughly exactly 33 days to the approximate T, I will be turning 30 years of age. August 13th is my birthday, and I counted the days until then, taking into account the 31 days July has, and came up with 33. That's how I figured it out.
Not only is this date monumental in the marking of my 30th year of life outside the womb, it is also the time in which I have decided I need to give up childish things. No, no, not the comics or frequent Star Wars viewings or video games or toy collecting or immature and politically incorrect jokes. Rather, smoking.
I have been a smoker since I was 16, or thereabouts. I remember getting mad at something, possibly my parents or something with school or the lack of any and all attraction being received from the opposite sex. Whatever it was, I met a friend of mine at the lake near the mall and had myself one of his cigarettes. I didn't inhale.
Nor did I inhale the next several I smoked in the days and weeks following.
Then, one day, outside of the Howard County Library in Columbia, I did inhale. A little twinge of the chest, perhaps my lungs' way of saying, "Oh shit, there goes the neighborhood," and I was on my way. I got really, really light-headed, had to sit down, then had me another.
A couple days later, I have a Marlboro Red on the way home from school. For those of you who smoke, you know what kind of reaction a young kid who doesn't smoke will have off a Marlboro Red. Those things are potent. So my friend was driving, and he wouldn't stop all the way for me to get out. Instead, he kept the car slowly moving, as friends are wont to do in keeping with Fucking With Each Other. I had such a buzz off the cigarette I fell completely over, then slowly got up, dizzy as hell, and went into the house.
Shortly after, I began smoking. Not as much as would come, but smoking nonetheless.
So now, I'm turning 30. This means I have been smoking for about 14 years. A stupid choice made by a kid with no real vices besides masturbation, and I'm finally ready to give it up.
I am nervous as hell. I know what it feels like to go only 3 days without having a smoke. You begin to get a little tense for no reason, a bit edgy, and feel kind of like you are being fed a caffeine IV drip. I have what you could consider a mild form of Tourette's Syndrome, so when I got without nicotine for an extended period of time, this irritability is accompanied by an increase in frequency of my tics.
In other words, it sucks. I quit for almost a year once, several years back. It was for a girl, so that pretty much ended when we did. Why I didn't just stay quit, I'll never know.
Non-smokers don't quite understand what it is to quit smoking. It is not a matter of putting down the cigarette and backing away. We are not only addicted to the nicotine, but smoking itself. The act of smoking becomes a part of you. When I hold a beer, the other hand wants nothing more than to have a lit cigarette in it's grasp. When I'm taking a long drive, it feels natural to smoke a few on the way. After a big meal, having a smoke makes it feel like you are not stuffed. Your hands are trained to hold, to flick, to fidget with. The nicotine is easily 70% of why we continue to smoke. The other 30%, though, is simply smoking.
The worst part will be having to sequester myself somewhat. If you've quit a week ago, you cannot go out. The bar is OFF LIMITS. There is no way any recent Quitter has enough willpower to waltz into a bar or club and just have some drinks and not smoke. It doesn't matter if said Quitter has the patch on their arm, or is chewing some nicotine gum, the Quitter will lose the battle. Because of that 30%. Because they see all these people around, one hand drinking a beer, the other tapping some ash into the ashtray. The Quitter wants to tap that ash. The Quitter wants to take a nice drag. The Quitter just wants to hold the cigarette. Smoke it, yes, but first, just hold it.
What this rambling mess boils down to is my plan to quit smoking. After my birthday, it's on. No more. It's ridiculous to continue. I've probably already doomed myself to a slow death by cancer. I might as well give myself a fighting chance.
So if I seem to be acting a little different after August, if I seem snappy and irritable, or impatient, or extra fidgety, just give it time. Eventually, it will go away. The craving will stop and I'll be back to normal. Except for the other 3o%. That will never go.
Maybe I can start back up when I hit 60.
Not only is this date monumental in the marking of my 30th year of life outside the womb, it is also the time in which I have decided I need to give up childish things. No, no, not the comics or frequent Star Wars viewings or video games or toy collecting or immature and politically incorrect jokes. Rather, smoking.
I have been a smoker since I was 16, or thereabouts. I remember getting mad at something, possibly my parents or something with school or the lack of any and all attraction being received from the opposite sex. Whatever it was, I met a friend of mine at the lake near the mall and had myself one of his cigarettes. I didn't inhale.
Nor did I inhale the next several I smoked in the days and weeks following.
Then, one day, outside of the Howard County Library in Columbia, I did inhale. A little twinge of the chest, perhaps my lungs' way of saying, "Oh shit, there goes the neighborhood," and I was on my way. I got really, really light-headed, had to sit down, then had me another.
A couple days later, I have a Marlboro Red on the way home from school. For those of you who smoke, you know what kind of reaction a young kid who doesn't smoke will have off a Marlboro Red. Those things are potent. So my friend was driving, and he wouldn't stop all the way for me to get out. Instead, he kept the car slowly moving, as friends are wont to do in keeping with Fucking With Each Other. I had such a buzz off the cigarette I fell completely over, then slowly got up, dizzy as hell, and went into the house.
Shortly after, I began smoking. Not as much as would come, but smoking nonetheless.
So now, I'm turning 30. This means I have been smoking for about 14 years. A stupid choice made by a kid with no real vices besides masturbation, and I'm finally ready to give it up.
I am nervous as hell. I know what it feels like to go only 3 days without having a smoke. You begin to get a little tense for no reason, a bit edgy, and feel kind of like you are being fed a caffeine IV drip. I have what you could consider a mild form of Tourette's Syndrome, so when I got without nicotine for an extended period of time, this irritability is accompanied by an increase in frequency of my tics.
In other words, it sucks. I quit for almost a year once, several years back. It was for a girl, so that pretty much ended when we did. Why I didn't just stay quit, I'll never know.
Non-smokers don't quite understand what it is to quit smoking. It is not a matter of putting down the cigarette and backing away. We are not only addicted to the nicotine, but smoking itself. The act of smoking becomes a part of you. When I hold a beer, the other hand wants nothing more than to have a lit cigarette in it's grasp. When I'm taking a long drive, it feels natural to smoke a few on the way. After a big meal, having a smoke makes it feel like you are not stuffed. Your hands are trained to hold, to flick, to fidget with. The nicotine is easily 70% of why we continue to smoke. The other 30%, though, is simply smoking.
The worst part will be having to sequester myself somewhat. If you've quit a week ago, you cannot go out. The bar is OFF LIMITS. There is no way any recent Quitter has enough willpower to waltz into a bar or club and just have some drinks and not smoke. It doesn't matter if said Quitter has the patch on their arm, or is chewing some nicotine gum, the Quitter will lose the battle. Because of that 30%. Because they see all these people around, one hand drinking a beer, the other tapping some ash into the ashtray. The Quitter wants to tap that ash. The Quitter wants to take a nice drag. The Quitter just wants to hold the cigarette. Smoke it, yes, but first, just hold it.
What this rambling mess boils down to is my plan to quit smoking. After my birthday, it's on. No more. It's ridiculous to continue. I've probably already doomed myself to a slow death by cancer. I might as well give myself a fighting chance.
So if I seem to be acting a little different after August, if I seem snappy and irritable, or impatient, or extra fidgety, just give it time. Eventually, it will go away. The craving will stop and I'll be back to normal. Except for the other 3o%. That will never go.
Maybe I can start back up when I hit 60.
Comments