My Smobriety, Day Fourteen: How It Goes Down From Here
The FinalSmobriety Charticle
Weight: 173 pounds
Pulse: 67 beats per minute
Risk of Smoking Resumption: Don’t be fucking stupid
Song Stuck In Head: “Another Day In Paradise,” Phil Collins
Symptoms: None to speak of
I’ve been a non-smoker for two weeks now. Today I met up with “Dick,” one of the pople who quit smoking with me (a.k.a. My Fellow Smobernaut,) and he’s off The Patch. There was some rough insomnia for a couple days, when he was kicking the nicotine, but that’s about it.
Last night I attended a party that was full of Smoky McSmokestacks, smoking indoors with impunity, packs of cigarettes on tables for the picking, and I didn’t feel tempted once. Perhaps at one point, I will have cravings—I’m going to be keeping up the Slogging for the remainder of the first month, just not every day—but perhaps the twelve years of smoking was enough for me. Maybe I was ready for it. Maybe this book did hypnotize me—it certainly made the process easier, one way or another, and I recommend it unabashedly.
Speaking of baseless smug self-satisfaction:, I don’t know how football is played, I didn’t watch a single moment of the pig-flesh tossery today, but I think that even if I was a big Seagulls fan, the Colin Farrell sex tape transcript (down a little bit on the page there) would still be my day’s main entertainment. We should all have our sex talk transcribed and reported to the masses, is what I’m saying. Boo to cow-sized men walloping each other, yay to Future Sonny-Crockett-Portrayers reaming the hell out of Playboy Bunnies and yammering like senile old coots while doing it!