Smobriety Charticle # 1

Weight: 180 pounds

Blood Pressure: 117/78

Song Stuck in Head: “Goody Two-Shoes” - Adam Ant

U.S. President Who Most Resembles Current Mood: William Henry Harrison

Withdrawal Symptoms: Extreme fucking grumpiness, pain in neck and back, insomnia

Re: the title: I entirely lost the previous version of this post when my rickety old computer decided not to publish it to the SLOG but rather to simply stare at me, one-eyed, until I finally had to Ctrl-Alt-Delete. I really liked the last version of this post. It even had a witty reference to Kazaam. But anyway.
Last night I went to a bar with two of my friends who are also quitting today. Because they are using the patch and the nicotine gum, they were able to drink. Because I am taking Wellbutrin a.k.a. Bubropion a.k.a. Zyban (I call them my Happy Pills,) which has been known to cause seizures when combined with alcohol, I was unable to drink. But I still had a fine time, discussing our respective methods of quitting and also what our Hobo Names would be (for the record, mine is Paulie Big-Britches.) Then I had my last cigarette, which was incredibly anticlimactic. I think that every smoker wishes it would be a wistful, or even eventful thing, but there were no fireworks or prophetic statements or the like. I tossed my last pack into a dumpster, came home, and spent most of last night staring at the ceiling. And then I woke up and tossed two hours of writing into the ether. So I’m going to post this up and then, a little later today, when I’m not ready to toss my laptop into the dumpster to chase the cigarettes, I’ll continue.