I passed the six month no-smoking--not even a puff, just some requests for others to please exhale in my face--milestone. Whoopie!
I am, in many ways, proud and happy. For instance, I haven't had an upper respiratory infection since. But I still miss it just as badly as I did the third week. (Not the first two weeks. Those are special times of despair). I wish that I would hate it. I wish that I would be firm in my resolve to never again flick a bic.
Then I remember the four years I DID feel that way. Being smoke free. Feeling that the nasty habit was so far beneath me. Only to start bumming again and finally rekindle the old connection.
You just can't tell. The one day at a time axiom stuck, I guess, because that's the way it is.
This blog helped keep me honest. Honestly. There were times I thought about it. Seriously. George's cigarettes are in the garage right now. I could easily have grabbed one during one of my "moments." One of the thoughts during those "moments" was that I would have to post it. I would. I wouldn't not post if if I cheated. I would tell you all that I slipped up, and how good it was, but how bad it feels to have to turn the clock back, and you would all tell me that everyone has a slip up and it doesn't mean I've lost the battle--or lost respect--to just pick up where I was before the slipup, and I would say thank you, I love you guys, and to be honest, I wanted to avoid that WHOLE thing.
Jenna, if you ever read this post, please don't EVER light one of those disgusting cigarettes. It's not just that they're bad for you. It's that they don't let you go. They cuff your hands and mess with your head, and all of your internal organs too, as long as you live. Which won't be as long as you would have. And even if you quit, they never stop messing with you.
On to month seven.