I “officially” quit smoking on March 5th (March 4th in USA) which was 3 months and 20 days ago. Chantix got me over the hump which was relatively easy compared to going cold turkey, and since then I’ve been living as a non-smoker which means I don’t carry cigarettes, I don’t buy cigarettes, and I definitely don’t smoke every day. But I still kind of want to smoke, especially if I have a beer or three!
Things were just fine until I got all stressed over the possibility of some asshole backing out of a deal to buy my iphoneappreviews.net website… more on that later when the situation gets resolved… and Terry has unwittingly introduced me to two girls who smoke daily and are therefore bad influences because I’ve bummed cigs off both of them in my ongoing and pathetic attempts to be charming and relatable. I don’t blame them, I blame me, but that dog really needs to start hooking me up with non-smokers.
Since I no longer buy cigarettes I can’t smoke unless one magically appears in my hand. That happened tonite when I looked in what used to be my Smoking Room (the tiny closet in my apartment where the A/C unit is) and I found this old, wrinkled, deformed thing sitting there. It wasn’t in a pack. It was just sitting there and it was kind of dirty. I smoked it! Shit. I’m bad. But that is literally the last cigarette that was in my possession, and the first one I’ve lit up since going on a weird non-date at the Han River about a week ago with this 30-something female and her dog. Terry chaperoned.