Okay, so it's been five months and one week, but who's counting? Oh yeah, I am! I haven't had a cigarette in FIVE WHOLE MONTHS! I never thought I'd quit. I was just talking to my sister who still smokes, and I asked her if she had ever thought I would quit. She said no, she never thought I would quit, and if I did, she would quit long before me. Well, look who made it through five long months without smoking a cigarette! I'm pretty proud of myself. I was a pretty heavy smoker at a little over a pack a day, and I had trouble doing anything without having a cigarette beforehand. Actually, I had trouble doing anything without knowing I could have a cigarette break or the promise of a cigarette afterward. And coffee. Forget it. I never thought I'd be able to drink a cup of coffee without a cigarette... or seven. But I'm sitting here typing this with a cup of coffee next to my laptop, no cigarette in sight.
When I was with my sister the other day, we had been shopping at WalMart, and afterward she said she needed a cigarette. Who wouldn't? WalMart is a zoo. I smelled the cigarette she lit and I expressed out loud my satisfaction in having quit, and that I couldn't imagine smoking again. I can't. The thought of a cigarette makes my stomach turn. Which is a definite good thing. I don't want to smoke again. Lots of people say that if they were told they only had a month to live, no matter how long they had been quit, they would buy a carton of cigarettes and smoke to their death. I wouldn't. Absolutely not.
Everything smells better, especially my hair and clothes and house. I don't have to open windows in the dead of winter. I don't have to constantly chew gum or brush my teeth. I don't have to take two showers a day. I don't have to take cigarette breaks. I can taste food again, and I've discovered that I don't like certain things like buffalo wings because my taste buds can't handle the spice now that they've been stripped of the tar and nicotine. I can smell everything again, and like taste, I don't like the smell of certain things anymore. Stale smoke smell being the worst of all, but I can smell every person who just had a cigarette no matter what they do to cover the smell. It's gross.
Who would've thought I'd reach this milestone? I sure didn't think I'd make it. But I did, and I'm totally happy. The first few weeks are the hardest, but I still do catch a craving every once in awhile. When I do, I just remember how expensive and smelly it was, and how hard it was to breathe. This is awesome. If you're quitting, stick with it. It's totally worth the hassle, bad moods, and impatience. You can do it. Here's to another five months.
I feel awesome. It feels so good to be unbound and freed of cigarettes. It's like a prison whose bars are made of smoke. I loved smoking, but I hated it all the same. It stinks, it yellows teeth and fingernails, it costs a fortune, it stinks up rooms and cars and hair and clothes, it takes up time and mental energy, it causes depression, it turns you mad when you first try to quit, it takes away the ability to breathe freely, it clogs the lungs with tar, ashes make their way into every crack and crevice of life, and did I mention they cost a fortune?
Cigarettes are terrible cancer-causing little assholes, and today I've been rid of them for 90 days. THREE MONTHS! I am so proud of myself, and so grateful. If I hadn't had such wonderful support, quitting may not have been possible. I am so happy to be a non-smoker.
I'd like to thank you, whoever you are, for being there as a reader. The ability to write to you here has been incredibly cathartic, and has been a great help in quitting.
I'm a non-smoker! (Smober as they say in nicotine recovery.) WOOOHOOOOOOO!
Miley Cyrus Acts Like An Asshole At The European Music Awards, Makes Me Hate Her Even More Than I Already Do
First of all, wearing what resembles a bathing suit that barely covers your lady goods is just poor taste. You are not sexually attractive to boys your own age. By styling yourself the way that you do, you've become attractive to creepy older men who like androgynous post pubescent boy-girls. Your Mohawk is past its prime, and so are your antics.
Lighting a joint on stage after winning an award at the European Music Awards is the perfect way to pay your respect to the institution that awarded you, and the public that voted for you. It is never classy to light a joint, wear what you wore, or to speak like you spoke. Your speech and choice of wardrobe allow your trailer park nature to outshine whatever talent you may have. "Wrecking Ball" is a good song, and it is such a shame you sing it.
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My name is Nicholas Emeigh, but everyone calls me Nick, and I prefer it. I'm usually called Nicholas when I'm in trouble. I'm from the Philadelphia area, work in business, and fancy myself as a freelance graphic designer, writer, and artist. I have a passion for art in all its forms including music, but I restrict my singing to the shower and the car for the good of society. If you'd like to know more, just send me an e-mail. I really appreciate you stopping by.