I Stopped Smoking

I stopped smoking last Monday, so it has been a week. The first night was a bit touch and go as the anger in me hovered around boiling point to explosive, as I caught myself feeling volcanic with the lava about to flow, about to shoot out the top of my head. Over nothing, really, of course. For a second, I wondered why I was feeling that way, before I realised. Stupid me. I counted to 10, breathing steadily all the while and I was fine. 

The rest of the seven days were a breeze. No, they were. After all of these times that I have quit, I have got it down to a rather uncomfortable 24 hours and then it is fine, I am a non smoker. Not so hard. I don't say that lightly, it has taken years of quitting to get to that point.

Sam said he'd stop pulling his hair out when I stopped smoking. I must remind him. When I say he pulls it out, he doesn't really pull it out, he kind of checks it, each strand of hair, one by one. I'm not sure if that makes it sound any better, but at least his hair stays connected to his head.

Anyway, back to me, I haven't smoked for a week. So, what is that? One hundred and forty cigarettes that I haven't put between my lips and lit. One hundred and forty. It sounds like an awful lot when I think about it in those terms.

I've smoked since Easter and that is approximately 1700 cigarettes I smoked that I shouldn't have... otherwise wouldn't have. That sounds like a huge number.

I've decided to do something sensible with all of that cigarette money, I'm going to invest it in Tattslotto.

Today, however, I am sick. Diarrhoea, which is unpleasant for all concerned. So Buddy and I are cuddled up in bed. Sam reckons I got it from coconut juice I drank last night. I dunno? Maybe? It is as good as any excuse, I guess. It is the only thing we didn't share, as we had two separate containers of the stuff. 

Boo hoo! What a shit way (no pun intended) to spend my day off.