Crazy Cow Country Farm

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I quit smoking. I may murder someone.

May 17th, 2010 · 10 Comments · Uncategorized

I started smoking when I was about 14.  My dad smoked Camel cigarettes and I began stealing them from him then, later, my Papa.  I’d also discovered the subliminal naked man in the drawing of the camel and thought it was just the coolest thing EVAH.  Good times.  Thus began my addiction and a pack a day habit that lasted until I got the pink line on the pregnancy test when I was 28 years old.  I had a cigarette lit and I immediately put it out – I didn’t pick up another one for seven years.  I know.  Why on earth did I ever start up again?  I don’t honestly know.  I admit that during that seven years I reached for my cigarettes every single time I had a cup of coffee, glass of wine, and climbed into a car.  Habit.  Totally, absolutely habit.

But I couldn’t smoke because I was pregnant and then breastfeeding and then pregnant again and breastfeeding again and then rinse and repeat.  Ed still smoked but he only smoked outside of the house and it really never bothered me like I thought it would. 

Until I went to work at Walmart.

I’d had a particularly bad shift and was telling my boss all about it when I started following him towards the backroom.  The next thing I know I’ve bummed a cigarette from him and it’s half gone.  I thought I would throw up and my head was spinning.  Literally.  But, like the dedicated smoker I am, I pushed through it and in no time at all I was back to a pack a day habit.  Health wise, it was awful and I immediately felt the effects but financially, it wasn’t too bad since a carton was still around $20 or so.  And then the tax increases started so the price began to rise.  I remember paying $7.50 a carton for my favorite Camel cigarettes and now the cost of generics is around $43.  Yes, we spend about $200 a month on cigarettes.  We figured up that over our marriage we have spent well over $20,000 on cigarettes.  Disgusting.  Absolutely disgusting. 

It was Ed’s idea to quit.  Shocking, I know.  We realized immediately that I would need a 4wd vehicle with better gas mileage than the van after I put 400 miles on the van in one week.  There’s just no way that the van can handle that kind of miles and I’d like to actually keep some of the mileage reimbursement checks I’ll receive rather than put them back into the tank!  So Ed figured up that with the money I’d save on fuel in a more efficient car and if we quit smoking, those two things alone would make the payment on a decent Honda CR-V, which met our criteria.  So we did it.  We started looking for a car and found it and then sat there staring at each other all weekend, watching for the other one to cave and head to the store for a pack.

The weekend was awful, to say the least.  The first few days are always the hardest and once you get through those, it really does get better.  I hope.  I keep telling myself.  I keep telling Ed.  I keep remembering that I hated the smell, the taste, and everything else that went along with smoking but it doesn’t work.  My brain still says, “Time for a smoke.”

I can’t deny it.  My thinking is disjointed, my routine is totally off, my temper is quick, and my worlds have collided.  For a quick minute I rationalized that adjusting my hormones would be enough of a shock to my system so why torture my body with nicotine withdrawal as well.  Cruel really. 

But we agreed we wouldn’t smoke in the new car and it’s already been 78 hour and 47 minutes so why bother.  Who’s counting really, in the scheme of things.

48 minutes.

So cross your fingers.  If I can make it just another few days then I’ll be over the worst of it.

49 minutes.

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