Quitting Smoking, Day 4

Time is shapeless and hazy. Food has a little more taste. And it turns out Jasmine's kibble smells horrendous!

Photo by GRAS GRÜN on Unsplash

I awoke on this, my fourth day since quitting smoking, with a groan. Something is wrong with my back. Last night, it literally hurt too much to lie in bed. How could that even be? I'm beginning to associate quitting smoking with the distinctive menthol smell of Icy-Hot - a smell so objectionable that once, after applying it on vacation, I was asked by my own family to leave our vehicle. I had to get out at a random light in New Orleans; my parents came back to pick me up a couple hours later, when the smell had subsided. They'd all gone and had bread pudding. True story.

Anyway. Smelling menthol is tough, because my very next thought is of how much I'd like a menthol light right now. Not to keep smoking all the way until I die at the advanced age of 65 or something - just, like, one single cigarette. For old times’ sake.

Ah yes, those olden, golden days of yore - last week. I was younger then …

No, it hasn't been very long, but the truth is I'm both surprised and proud at having held out for several days. Last time I tried quitting, it took four hours, not days, before I was yelling and sobbing about how life wasn't worth living if I didn't get to do so on my terms, doing what I wanted to.

That was eleven years ago, but vividly I remember calling the support phone number on the Nicorette package. As hopeless tears blurred my view, I wailed to the call-center worker that I was actually much more likely to die from having to use their product than from continuing to use cigarettes.

“Um. Let me get my manager,” she said nervously. While I waited, I paced anxiously around my bedroom, heaving and shuddering. Soon another voice came on the line.

“Ma’am,” it barked, piercing through my tears. “We're going to go ahead and recommend that you go easy on yourself, OK? You can try quitting again another time."

"OK,” I sniffled, hanging up. I wasn't looking for it, but I'd received Official Permission to keep smoking. So I did. And yeah - that was 2012 and now it's 2023.

So I was expecting something like that this time. For whatever reason, though, it's been pretty different. The days have been calmer. I've been calmer.

Don't get me wrong - if a pack of cigarettes fell from the sky, I'd definitely smoke them. If I'd left one in my car or in an old purse, I'd have it. But I knew before quitting that I'd feel that way, and I threw stuff out accordingly. I didn't leave myself anything to find.

And there's no Nicorette this time - there's no anything. Without a quitting aid, is my commitment wavering, after almost 96 smoke-free hours? No. It's just that, frankly, I'm not focused on swearing that I'll never, ever smoke again. I'm just trying to keep from doing it right now.

Sounds like a dodge, doesn't it? Or like a built-in way to ensure I mess up?

Well, the thing is, I could mess up. And if I did, I'd just get back on track afterwards. That's all you can do in life. But if it's a little bit ambiguous, that's only because stopping smoking needs to remain centered as my choice. Because it is my choice! It's not something the big, bad world is forcing on me - it's my choice.

I have to keep choosing quitting. Even if sometime I stumble, I need to make my ridiculous little all-or-nothing brain understand that a stumble wouldn't be the same as a 20-story drop.

All of this is to say that it's OK, I think, to still be somewhat overwhelmed.

This morning at 9, I wandered into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes, to be met with two to-do lists and a journal to write in. I was also entreated to wash a sink full of dishes and given a verbal recitation of other things I could do to be helpful.

Poor Dave. He was overwhelmed. And understandably so!

He’s been tiptoeing around me for days. Now, here we were, crashing back into launching-a-business mode. But I don't think I quite understood - and, thus, didn't convey to him - how severely this would lay me low, or for how long.

“Listen,” my lizard brain growled, “I can either quit smoking or I can do all this stuff. But not both.”

Yes, both! I just have to shake off this brain fog and take things one at a time.

Meanwhile, my senses of smell and taste seem to be strengthening! That Icy-Hot was really something else, but hey, coffee smells even better than I knew! The raspberries in my smoothie are incredibly tart! I can smell petrichor after our much-needed weekend of steady rain!

Oh the other hand, Jasmine’s dog food smells absolutely repulsive. Hurk! It's bad. I mean, it's baaad. As well all know, though, the worse something smells to humans, the more exciting it is to dogs, so I'll assume her every meal is a rollicking rollercoaster of flavor.

So! I'm hanging in there! I'll continue to keep everyone updated - thanks for your good vibes and well-wishes!