Shelley is a Quitter...Really!

I had a hypnosis session on Wednesday, and amazingly, I quit smoking and haven't even missed it.  A few times since the session I have thought about cigarettes, but only in the sense that I realized that I haven't had one.  Not in the sense that I was wishing desperately that I had one.  Last night I even had some wine, on the deck and didn't even miss cigarettes.  It's like magic, but apparently it isn't magic, it's just my brain now doesn't want to smoke.  Neither does the rest of me apparently.  What's more interesting, is that I now find myself not even particularly interested in continuing to talk about it on this blog, because smoking has become such a non-issue to me. Don't care. Over it. 

The hypnosis itself was very interesting.  When I went to the session, I actually expected that I was going to have to stare into a spinning disk, or stare at a watch on a string, or something.  In actuality, I sat in a chair, closed my eyes, got very relaxed, and just listened to Mr. Boyes talk to me about smoking.  Then I got un-relaxed, opened my eyes, left the session and don't want to smoke anymore.  I don't feel disoriented, and tortured about not smoking.  I just don't smoke now.  I am not disgusted by other people smoking, or offended at the sight of cigarettes, or fixate on people smoking on TV or in movies.  I just don't smoke.  It's very cool. 

So unless things change, I kind of expect that I won't be making any more blog entries.  Since I am no longer thinking about cigarettes, I am no longer thinking about quitting, and so talking about it would just be weird.  And mildly boring for both you and me. I suppose I could log on each day and just say, "I don't smoke," but what an inane use of time that would be. So for all of you who have been so supportive and forgiving and kind, thanks.  I have quit and it's great. 

Gloom, Despair, and Agony on Me!

It's not really that bad.  I've just had that refrain running through my head for a couple of weeks.  Possibly a couple of decades, but definitely a couple of weeks.  One of my friends from high school who I have "Facebook" re-connected with, which is only a half-hearted reconnection, posted a status update a few weeks ago of "Sleeping single in a double bed," which is a Barbara Mandrell song, for all you non-country folk who may not know.  In any event, (my alternative to 'Nonetheless') I have had a non-stop refrain of bad 1970's and 1980's country songs running through my head since then. At first I though "gloom, despair and agony on me," was an Oak Ridge Boy's production, but I was soooo wrong it is from the ONE, the ONLY,   

HEE HAW!  I am apparently a (an?) hillbilly.  So that made me wonder what other remembrances of childhood history may be impacting my subconscious that I'm unaware of (that is a ha ha, to go with my hee haw.  You know, subconscious that may be impacting my conscious.  Once again, I digress).  When I was a wee little child, there are only two people who I remember as actual smokers, even though others have admitted to being smokers after the fact.  My Grandma Gus (my mom's mom) and her husband (who she married after my granddad died when I was six months old, or who I would have called my granddad) were real and for true smokers, and I hated it.  Truly, when she came to our house when I was a kid and my mom let her smoke inside, I threw gigantic fits! Smoking stinks, and makes everything disgusting, and made my mom's asthma (that she had while living with the smoker) inflamed and dangerous.  So basically I was a nasty brat whenever Grandma Gus came around, and then I started smoking.

Also, I remember Dad's shop smelling like cigarette smoke when I was a kid.  I also remember it being plastered with posters of "Part's girls" from whatever parts store sponsored them.  I did find the shop to be a fun place full of new adventures.  There were welders there, and the little carts that let mechanics roll underneath cars, and hydraulic lifts....it was little kid Nirvana.  Plus, there were vending machines there that I had the keys to when I was not old enough to attend kindergarten, stocked with RC Cola products and off brand hostess treats.  Was that enough to endear the stinky stench of cigarette to me years (no really, at least a decade plus) after the fact?  I doubt it.  So, I still have no idea, aside from the lovely looks of Sobranie Black Russians (the brand of smokes I started on), why I ever started smoking.  I shall continue on my subconscious quest through the origins of my smoking, which apparently leads me down a road of very mediocre country-western music, until October 6, when my brain may hopefully be retrained.  So as not to leave you with the above image of hillbilly scariness I provide the following....George Clooney pretending to be a hillbilly.

 

"I am a [wo]man of constant sorrow," but I seem to actually enjoy it, which makes me think it's not actually sorrow.

Taking the Day Off.

Today I am attending my favorite Boise festival, perhaps the only Boise festival that I enjoy, Art in the Park.  The only place where I can get my fair food fix and buy some lovely art pottery at the same time.  Also, it is packed with people who probably won't appreciate the smell of my second-hand smoke wafting about.  After that I am attending a baby shower for a friend at her in-laws house.  I met her father-in-law years before he was her father-in-law because our office did some work for him.  He is not a fan of smoking, and the fact that I smoke and that it is disgusting and deadly was about the only thing he and I ever talked about, aside from work stuff.  He even went to so far as to try to bribe me to quit smoking with the promise of a new set of golf clubs.  Very generous offer, but I declined.  So, since I know very well his opinion on smoking, it seems too rude to excuse myself from the shower festivities today to go outside and smoke at his house.  Therefore, I am taking the day off from smoking.  Got the patch firmly attached and looking forward to a stink-free day.  I'm also looking forward to a pronto-pup, some plate lunch from Kanak Attack, and probably a Delsa's ice cream cone.  All of that before I go to the baby shower.  The mom-in-law of the mommy to be is a fantastic chef/caterer so I am looking forward to another smorgasborg of deliciousness at that event too.  What I lack in nicotine today I will definitely make up for in calories.  Happy Saturday to all!

Pain is Weakness Leaving the Body.

I'm a little disappointed in myself thinking about my new plan to, in my opinion, bypass the work of quitting and go straight to the result.  Since I've started this process, I haven't allowed myself to get the really CRAZY place.  I let myself get to the place where I can see CRAZY straight ahead in the headlights, but then I swerve to the Jackson's convenience store and buy a pack of cigarettes.  Perhaps if I let myself get to crazy, and crested that hill, I'd come out the other side a non-smoker. 

I am excited to try something new, and that I have very high hopes will work.  I hope that I can be successful without really doing the work.  It worked in junior high school, so maybe it will work again.

Hubris.

Well someone was up on her "I'm a smoker and damn proud of it," high horse last night.  Mea culpa.  I am not excited and proud of being a smoker, or I wouldn't be trying to quit for the 8th or 9th time, I can't remember which.  So, once again, please forgive the extreme outburst of "I think I am fabulous," I unleashed in yesterday's post.

I visited Mr. Boyes, (soon to be a doctor, working on his Ph.D) the hypnotherapist that I spoke of in my blog post yesterday, and it was a very reassuring experience. (Look Ma, no singular itallics!) As I suspect you are too, I am generally fairly oblivious to my subconscious.  If we were all conscious of our subconscious, then it would cease to be sub, would it not?  I digress.  So, we've discussed that in in this attempt to quit smoking I have tried to rely upon my willpower, and patches, and nicorrette gum, and Chantix, and acupuncture to beat this stupid habit.  We've also discussed how, aside from the acupuncture, which does a great deal to assist with my nerves and anxiety, and the Chantix that I hate, I've tried all of these things to help me to quit in the past.  And we all know that the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over again, and expecting a different result.  Well, I have every hope that hynotherapy will be my new and different thing that works.

Turns out that the subconscious mind is like the framers of the Bill of Rights, it holds certain truths to be self evident.  As opposed to forming an opinion after observing certain extraneous indicators (the conscious mind that relies upon deductive reasoning) the subconscious mind takes in the extraneous indicators that we regularly provide to the brain through repetition/habit, and then extrapolates from there.  My extraneous mind has taken the input I've provided to it and determined that the way I relax, celebrate, deliberate and create is dependent on having a cigarette in my hand.  Funny, because my conscious mind thinks the same and apparently I don't have the good old will power to shake all of that without some assistance.  Luckily, that assistance doesn't come until October 6 based on my calendar and that of Mr. Boyes.  I'm still terrified, but optimistic.

"Life is a Banquet..."

"And most poor suckers are starving to death."  Said very well by Auntie Mame in 1964, and to my silly 2010 brain, the sentiment is the same.  So I continue to smoke, because I'm not sick, not even remotely.  And not too wrinkly, just yet.  And not even feeling imminently in danger of illness, although the wrinkliness is a distinct possibility.  So bottom line is, I like being me.  I like too much.  I love too much of a lot of stuff.  I like too much work, and stress, and general uptightness.  I love too much wine, and food and smoking, etc....  I love my life, and me and such, and the thought of trying to not be me, i.e. quit smoking, makes me very leery, and weary, and more than a little bit too much terrified of giving up the banquet.  If I give it up, who's left?  Who is out there to keep up the bandwagon and big band, and Mad Mennishness of 2010?  Who?  You?  Not likely, no offense, but I'm as close to good, clean fun as I think the world continues to have, in my opinion and my opinion, as far as I'm honestly concerned, is really is all that counts.  I think you really don't disagree, as long I keep my butts in their proper place.

Nevertheless, (how many sentences in this blog have I begun with "nevertheless"?) last Friday I felt pretty bad about being a failure at being a quitter, and decided to try 'hypnotherapy'.  Not sure why I put that in singular italics, but I did.  So I did some research and decided that the "Positive Changes" cattle call approach to 'hypnotherapy' (I did it again!) was not my cup of tea, so I did some more research.  I found another therapist (I left the 'hypno' out so I could avoid the singular italics) who I called and who gave me a mini-quiz about what might be my smoking triggers.  Apparently, everything that I think I like, and that makes me me, is a trigger.  In any event, this makes it necessary for us to have a "short conversation" (in full italics) tomorrow before we schedule a hypnotherapy session.  Tomorrow I have a short conversation with a therapist.  Blurg.  I'll report back, unless they put me in the loony bin.  In the event you haven't yet seen "On A Clear Day" (with Barbra Streisand, and don't say ugh) pick it up.  Makes me laugh right now just thinking about it, and just check out those costumes.  It's truly a fabulous film, and it involves a girl being hypnotized to quit smoking, in 1970.  This ain't new folks, no matter how new age it may seem.

Things I do Not Like.

Chantix.  Don't like it one bit.  My medical provider had great hopes for me using the Chantix, but as it turns out, it was just a new side effect a day drug for me.  I was afraid to see what happened on day 5.  Days 1 and 2, skull splitting headache.  Day 3, felt like puking every 10 minutes.  Day 4, extreme fatigue.  Not, I haven't slept in two days sort of fatigue, but rather, if I was trying to wake up from a coma, what would it feel like sort of fatigue.  Plus wacky, crazy, creepy dreams beginning on day 1.  And if you already know me, and have heard about my "regular" dreams, then you can only imagine.  So, in 4 days I managed to nearly go mad, and was pretty sure I was permanently effed up, but I also managed to go entirely back to my normal smoking habit....because that is what I was supposed to do, per the medical instructions of the stupid, evil Chantix.  Disclaimer....these side effects will not be experienced by all potential users of the drug (just most), and it still comes highly recommended to those who have an incredible insensitivity (INCREDIBLE) to pharmaceuticals, and who would like to quit smoking. 

So now, I am still trying to make sure I am not crazy, or on the verge of going mad, and I'm back to smoking nearly a pack a day.  Are you kidding me??  I thought I was doing, well not great, but making some good damn progress toward being a non-smoker.  It wasn't just around the freaking corner, but on the distant horizon. Now I am back to picking another damn quitting date.  That means I get to start the anxiety, and doubt, and near paralyzing fear all over again.

Perhaps the only way I will ever quit is to find myself in a Robinson Crusoe scenario.  (See the photo on the right.)  The island that Bryan and I visit in Fiji is within sight distance of the island where "Castaway" was filmed and the photo on the right is me standing over the Castaway sign.  Awesome island, but Tom Hanks could have swam to any of 4 other inhabited islands with lots of rum, or he could have stayed on the island and eaten all the goat and fish and fruit he could get his hands on.  In any event, I know I have the willpower in me somewhere, but I just haven't quite found the tap yet.  Sorry I dropped off for a couple of weeks.  I thought I was crazy, and I was pretty tired of hearing myself (and all the other voices) talk. 

Thanks Laura for sending "The Easy Way to Quit Smoking."  I'll get on that one of these days, and maybe that will work before I have to get myself marooned. 

False Start!

I am smoking again, but on doctor's orders.  Sort of.  Since I was still an obsessed stress case using the patch, I decided to try the Chantix.  Started it on Tuesday.  The list of precautions was like nothing I've ever seen before for a pharmaceutical product.  Without exaggeration, which I am sometimes prone to, the insert for Chantix is a full 8 1/2 x 11 inch sheet of paper two columns, single space, of things not to do and other things to look out for.  Not the least of which was the precaution against going crazy and trying to kill yourself or others.  Eeek!  So far no pharmaceutical induced fits of rage, homicidal or suicidal, but stay tuned. 

I did get a wicked headache last night, that was still around today until late this afternoon, but it is now gone.  Keeping my fingers crossed that it doesn't return.  Now that I can find out anything about anything on the Google (which is on the internets), I did some searching and learned that some other folks got a headache from Chantix that stuck around for six months after they had quit using the drug. 

Here's the thing about Chantix.  You get to smoke for a while when you first start taking it, so I have temporarily started my old smoking habit.  The drug is supposed to block the nicotine receptors in the brain so that a smoker no longer has any physical reaction to the drug, and ergo, no longer wants the drug.  So I smoke again for two to six weeks and hopefully, by then, no longer care about smoking.  Sounds impossible, but lovely.  So hear I am at the starting line again (that's why I chose the racing picture).  Here's to no terrifying fits of rage!  But stayed tuned just in case. 

Happy, but cheating.

During the day, while I am work, and most evenings my happy nicotine patch has been tiding me over.  But every few days, I've been dipping into a pack.  This week I smoked a pack, except the one that is still in there taunting me.  This is because I haven't been able to stop fixating on the evil smokes, and if I let my myself go ahead and smoke once in a while, and my brain knows that I will let myself do that, then I can let it go and get my brain back in order.  Does that make sense?  I know from experience, however, allowing myself to do that, does not actually make me a quitter.  And over time, even if I quit smoking altogether in the next little while, if I do it by telling myself I can smoke if I really want/need to, then I will start smoking again eventually.

So I'm a bit adrift.  Which is why I chose the photo at the left, taken after our sandbar trip lunch during our barracuda fishing trip in Belize.  Wasn't at all adrift during the Belize trip.  I got to dive, and eat, and fish, and smoke all I want, even inside the clubhouse there.  Everyone on that island was a smoker, not exaggerating, and most of them were from the U.S.  I thought I was in some sort of Twilight Zone version of heaven.  It was awesome. 

Next week I have an appointment with a physician to try the Chantix.  You know, the drug I discussed many posts back that I was hesitant to try because of the increased risk of depression and suicidal thoughts.  But, on the upside in order to take the drug I have to start smoking again for a couple of weeks so that my nicotine receptors can be re-trained.  Today, I am not smoking.  Hopefully not tomorrow too.  I am not giving up on quitting, I promise.  Never surrender!!

It's Just Pretend.

Another problem preventing me from quitting entirely is the imaginary glamor of it all.  When I am smoking, I don't watch myself, so I can imagine myself being the very glamorous pretend me. It's only pretend, and it may be deranged, but it's fun for me.  Until I go to bed and my legs start aching and I start worrying that it's a blood clot and that I'll have a midnight stroke, or when my hands go numb and I start picturing the shrively old me with skin like tissue paper and packing my oxygen tank around with me, that I realize how truly unglamorous smoking really is. 

I have been feeling very unglamorous since I quit, and I like to be pretend glamorous, which has led to me having a number of...shall we say...relapses.  While I am relapsing (two packs worth in a week) I do feel very 1960's fantastic while my little smoking binge is ongoing.  The post-binge anxiety, however, is reaching a fever pitch.  Which, I guess is good since the goal is to stop smoking altogether.  So my new goal now is to make it 10 days with no relapses.  I also need to find a new way to pretend like there is some glamor in my world.  I'd go back to vintage clothes, but I'd have to lose about 4 inches off my waist.  Apparently no one in the 60's ate.  They just SMOKED and drank cocktails. 

Angry Papillae...

I think I killed my taste buds.  Smoking an entire pack of cigarettes in the span of about five hours did have the positive effect of making me really not want any more.  Now I am going to bed.

Wolf!

I may be Shelley Effing Davis, but apparently I can't do everything I say I am going to do every time I say I will do it.  You've probably seen the commercial with the man sitting on a pier with a shark attached to his arm who keeps repeating to himself "cigarettes, cigarettes."  Well, that has been pretty much my entire inner dialogue since Sunday.  That man pops a piece of lovely Nicorette (which I am not knocking, it is still good) and then he moves on with his day, and realizes there is a shark attached to his arm.  Well, I had the patch on, ate my citrus, took a walk, went and had some acupuncture, pressed the radish seeds she attached to my ear, chewed the Nicorette, chewed the cinnamon gum, I even ate some delectable M&Ms and still all I could think was cigarettes, cigarettes, so I got some.  Damn it!

Here is another thing about quitting for me.  Whenever I have a bad day, can't concentrate, can't sleep, or am generally out of sorts, when I quit smoking, I blame it entirely on cigarettes.  I realize that is entirely illogical.  During my eighteen years of smoking I had bad days, couldn't concentrate, couldn't sleep, and was sometimes generally out of sorts.  Then I did not blame it on not smoking.  I blamed it on something else.  So folks, I am as disappointed as you. 

At the store when I was purchasing the cigarettes I was carded for the smokes (which is lovely, and maybe another reason I keep buying them).  He apologized and I told him I didn't mind in the least, if he could deter some kid from ever taking up this horrible addiction it is entirely worth it.  Then I told him I was quitting, finished the transaction, saw the puzzled look on the man's face, and took my cigarettes home.  It is so perplexing.

Maybe hypnosis would work.  What do you think?  I was called on-stage at the senior class graduation party to be hypnotized with a bunch of my classmates, and I wouldn't go under.  That fellow told me I was not capable of being hypnotized, but perhaps he was just a hypnosis quack.  Maybe I could be hypnotized, and under hypnosis I'll discover a bunch of glamorous past lives.  If you don't get that reference and you have Netflix on demand, look up "On a Clear Day, You Can See Forever" the movie.  It's a classic.  Also about a gal who undergoes hypnosis to quit smoking.  It's hysterical. It's also a musical and one of my favorite shower songs.

All right, while you are all thinking "sure you are" I'm going to sit here and stew in my failure juices and hope that tomorrow is better. 

Needing Some Inspiration.

I wanted to smoke so bad today that if my car hadn't been trapped by the carpet cleaner in the driveway I would probably have smoked. Thank goodness for the carpet cleaner.  Instead of smoking I ate five clementines and chewed a lot of cinnamon gum.  So I am not feeling particularly loquacious this evening, nor can think of anything inspired or inspiring to share with you so I will keep it short.  I survived another day with my non-smoker status in-tact.  Hooray for the little victories. 

I do have a new favorite thing to share.  Lunch time walks with my friend Jill.  Thanks Jill.  See you tomorrow.

Some Really Big Numbers.

I've been smoking for eighteen years, give or take a few weeks.  Let's do the math, using eighteen years as the rough round number.

One pack a day for 18 years = 6,570 packs of cigarettes.

There are twenty cigarettes in each pack = 131,400 individual cigarettes smoked.

During the time that I have been a smoker cigarettes have increased in price from about $2 a pack to a whopping $5 a pack.  So I chose a rough figure in the middle, $3.75 a pack = $24,637.50 spent on cigarettes, roughly.

Here is the kicker, I approximate that it takes about 5 minutes to smoke an entire cigarette, although that may be a little on the long side.  In any event, if I multiply 5 minutes by 131,400, divide that by 60 and divide that by 24, the answer is 365.  I have spent approximately one whole year of my life with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth.

So, well...., there's that.  That's all the math I choose to do today.

Worst Fears Realized.

All right, not worst fears, but predictable negative side effects confirmed.  In the week since I quit smoking, I've gained 1.5 pounds.  So 1.5 pounds in and of itself is not alarming, but 1.5 pounds a week, if it continues week after week could become more alarming.  I guess it's time to baby step on from citrus to the gym. Blech.  The gym sounds bad enough on its own, but going to the gym without the satisfaction of that first post work out cigarette, sounds like even more torture. 

Aside from the minor weight gain, and having to go back to the gym, and still being a little jittery, and being more sensitive to the heat (a side effect I believe from not spending an hour or two outside smoking a day) I am starting (kind of) to enjoy being a non-smoker.  I had a great long weekend water skiing, visiting friends at their Donnelly ranch (complete with home-made bread and home-made strawberry/raspberry ice cream-Thanks again), and then home again to my kind and patient husband.  I'm trying to stay positive about this quitting stuff, but my mood has been unpredictable and at some times rather sour, and he has been very good to me about all of this.  I still haven't quite figured out how to mellow my brain out without the nicotine breaks, and Bryan has been very good to me while I continue to make sour faces, and silently sulk until I figure out a better, less deadly way to mellow myself out.

As a general rule, I have always been a bit of a stress case.  I rather enjoy that about me.  Cigarettes were my break to go outside and calm the hell down.  Guess what, the evil tobacco companies knew I would do that, as the following vintage cigarette ads prove.

Steady nerves for war time.  I'd probably still be smoking if we were in the middle of World War II.

Yes, I used to smoke anxiety away.  Spud cigarettes?  Wonder why that brand didn't last...

Who new contract bridge was such a stressful game?  I had to add this vintage ad just so I could tell this story.  About two years after I finished my undergraduate degree my grandmother invited me to join her bridge group, and when I explained to her that I did not know how to play bridge, she accused me of not actually having gone to college. Apparently she was under the impression that all nice young women go to college to learn how to play bridge and find husbands.  True story.

It does take steady nerves to be America's Greatest Stunt Girl.  I don't think the life expectancy of a wing walker made her overly concerned about the negative health effects of smoking.

Wishing you all an excellent week, and for myself, some calmer nerves and no more weight gain. 

Exercise Helps.

I don't generally like exercise.  In fact, I was just explaining to my mom that I think the last time I went to the gym was in April, and the last time before that was February.  Nevertheless, they say exercise helps with quitting smoking.  Plus I had the day off and waterskiing is fun.  So that is what I did today.  Some photos to prove it.

Ok.  I really did ski before this tubing incident.  Twice.  For a fairly short distance in two different directions.  The tubing was a complete blast though.  Ergo, the giant, dopey, laughing smile on my face in the photo to the right.

My 15 year old sister completely outdid me in the waterskiing department.  By the way, she is very glad that I have quit smoking.  If I ever catch her smoking, I will slap the natural athletic and musical ability right out of her.

Our fearless boat chauffeur, my dad, was quite a trooper.  He quit smoking cold-turkey about three years ago after I called him crying because one of my good friends had just very suddenly lost her father (who to my knowledge never was a smoker, but still).  I did not quit because I rationalized that I was much younger and in far better health, and that I still had many healthy smoking years left.  Don't laugh.  I really told myself that.  I wish you all could have joined us today to hear my dad dancing and rapping along to some song about sticking your elbows out like a cholo.  It was a day full of great laughs.  Thanks.

They also say that eating citrus fruit helps to quit smoking so I got a bag of clementines.  I'll start with citrus and try to work myself back into the gym.  Baby steps. 

Huzzah!

Excellent quitting day.  Yesterday, after my particularly bad quitting day on Monday, I went to visit my friend Nedda (practicing at Pulse Holistic) who, among other traditional medicines, provides acupuncture treatments.  So I got a bunch of needles stuck in my ears, and some in my arms, and legs, and in my forehead and one on the very pointy part of my pointy head.  Then she hooked the ones in my ears up to some sort of electrode-type device that made lovely little pulses in my head.  Also, she hooked me up with some herbs that have helped both make me a little more calm and provided some extra resolve to my occasionally faulty willpower. 

I tried acupuncture the first time after my face went numb and my doctor told me it was "just Bell's palsy," which of course was far better than the stroke that I thought I might be having, but anytime someone throws out 'palsy' in a diagnosis I think it natural to be somewhat alarmed.  Anyhow, Bell's palsy is a catch-all diagnosis for unexplained source facial nerve paralysis that may or may not be permanent.  This also alarmed me.  So after I finished my course of steroids (eek!) I went to visit Nedda who explained that Bell's palsy is more commonly diagnosed in Chinese culture and that there were many traditional treatments.  She hooked me up with some acupuncture and my face was back to normal (or as close to it as I get) within a couple of treatments.  Now I'm a believer.  A billion Chinese can't be wrong! 

Yesterday's acupuncture treatment was very helpful and gave me some great focus.  Also, the herbs are the bomb.  I was actually so energized that I started to think of some new favorite things I would like to try. 

For instance.....

Archery!  I've been fascinated by archery since wathcing Disney's fox-filled version of Robin Hood as a little kid.  Plus, it looks like a great arm and core work out.

Or perhaps.....

Kung Fu, or some other form of martial art. (I may have a Disney problem.)

Both of these new favorite things would also add to my repertoire of evil Bond girl skills.  Tomorrow, though, I am going waterskiing with my dad, one of my old, pre-smoking favorite things.  There may be a fun photo from that adventure.  Hoping all of you had as great a day as I had today.  Hooray for not smoking.  I smell better!

Back in the Saddle Again.

Enough of this horseshit.  I know who I am with cigarettes or without.  I am Shelley Effing Davis, and I do what I say I am going to do, including quitting smoking.  No more pathtic whining about the existential angst of rediscovering myself as a non-smoker.  It was after all, just a dangerous and stupid habit. 

Last night after my little rambling pity party whine fest (not wine fest, I'll have one of those again one of these days too) I watched the last episode of "Rescue Me" where Tommy Gavin had a post-near-death rebirth, and decided he was going to be nice to everyone, and quit drinking for the four thousandth time, and apparently quit smoking too.  And everyone around him said "sure you are" and he ended the episode by having a big melt down and downing about six fingers of scotch.  Made me think it was time for me to quit crying wolf and make everyone around me think, although their not jerkish enough to say, "sure you are." 

So there. 

Strike One.

I didn't even make it five days.  Right now I should be feeling really bad, but I don't.  On my way home from work I stopped to buy cigarettes.  I've had two, and really, compared to how I have felt for the last two days, but especially since about 2:30 today, I feel normal.  For the first time in nearly five days I feel normal.  Normal in the sense that I feel like me.  Here is the thing about this quitting business.  I've been a smoker for my entire adult life.  I really don't know how to be without them.  I am still committed to figuring it out, but I've come to another realization.

They say that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.  Each time I have tried quitting I've done about the same thing, except for my brief brush with Wellbutrin in the mid 1990's.  That stuff just made me crazier than I normally am when I try to quit.  So my M.O. is to get really disgusted with myself as a smoker, and fume about it for a few weeks, or months, and then decide to quit, and stick on a patch and put on a brave face and see how long it takes for me to crack.  This time, not too long.  Sorry about that to all who are rooting for me. I did have the added help of the Nicorette in addition to the patch, that but that didn't get me there either.  So what will it take to get this quitting thing to take for me?  Apparently will power and the threat of disappointing a lot of great people aren't enough. 

I'm supposed to get a new routine in order to really accomplish quitting.  The problem with that is, I hate change.  That could be the root of this entire inability to quit.  I really, really hate change.  Really.  A lot.  When I am not smoking I feel like a stranger in my own skin, in my house, in my own brain. 

I'll ponder a bit a longer.  A lot of people have quit.  There must be a way that will work.  Maybe Chantix, but my past experience with Wellbutrin, and that whole warning on the label about causing thoughts of suicide, have me a smidge spooked about it.  I'll figure it out.  Don't give up on me yet. 

No cigarettes and no booze....

Makes Shelley go crazy.  Don't mind if I do!  The honeymoon phase is apparently over.  That didn't take long.  The nicotine receptors in my brain became acutely aware this afternoon that they are no longer receiving anything.  Since then it has been one on the verge of tears moment after another.  Happy fun good times at our house.  Sorry Bryan.  That's all I've got for today.  Here are some additional strange and bizarre cigarette ads from the past for your amusement.

I don't know if you can read the script at the bottom, but it says "Not Recommended For Children Under 6."  Wow.  Just, wow.

"Gotta Smoke Up!"  That fight attendant doesn't look happy or energetic to me, just deranged.

In case you need your cigarettes to contribute to your eating disorder.

Here is hoping for a better tomorrow, or I don't know how much longer I'll make it.

The Honeymoon Phase.

I had lunch with a couple of friends yesterday and one of them asked why I started smoking again after the last time I had quit, and I couldn't remember.  Around 2002 I had quit for around nine or ten months, and then I just started smoking again.  Thinking about it got me to worrying about what will happen when the honeymoon phase of quitting wears off again.  This time though, I think things will be very different.

For one thing, I am close to the only smoker I know these days. I know a few people who will have a cigarette or two socially with drinks (which I know I cannot attempt ever again), but in retrospect, I am normally the one to start the smoking in those circumstances.  Of course, me having been a chain-smoker when I drank, no one else really had a chance to start smoking before me, so I may have just been under the misapprehension that I was the Pied Piper of the social smokers.  The last time I un-quit I was still at law school where there were a bevy of smokers just like me, so walking past them day after day may have just worn me down.  More likely than not though, it was probably just finals that did me in.

The honeymoon phase is in full swing for me.  These last couple of days without cigarettes have been terrific.  Today I took a nap and when I woke up my hands weren't numb (perhaps my circulation is improving).  Bryan and I wandered through the Saturday farmers market today, and I didn't even run off to smoke.  I saw some others who did and felt superior (ha!  honeymoon phase prerogative).  All in all, everything is going swimmingly, and tomorrow I will go swimming with my darling godson and his brother.  I can't remember if the patch is water resistant or not.  

Also, in case anyone was wondering about the crab dinner at the Crow Inn, yesterday's experience was not good.  Three large crab legs that, to me, smelled entirely too fishy to eat, but I did anyhow, and it tasted a little off, but who knows.  Bryan suggested that perhaps my nose is just starting to smell again.  I didn't ask what "market price" was for the legs and was astonished to learn they charge $29.95 for three fishy crab legs and a bag-o-salad.  To be fair, it is pretty hard to get good seafood in a land-locked state.  The proper place to eat seafood is some island in the South Pacific or Caribbean, preferably that you've caught yourself.  I still had fun at the Crow Inn, and next time I'll remember to just get the finger steaks.  (The photo is Fiji lobster, not Crow Inn crab legs.)

Day Two...New Favorite Thing Number One.

Ambrosia.  At about 2:20 I started to have my first post-quitting, physical and psychological freak out.  My friend Sarah had given me some Nicorette gum as a good luck on quitting gift and I had stuck it in my desk.  You see, I'm already using the patch, which I like very much but it mostly just gets me back to my normal residual nicotine level.  No nice spikes like smoking a cigarette.  Nicorette gum, my new favorite thing, is the lovely spike.  My brain snapped back into shape.  The jitters went away, and I had a very lovely afternoon.  Thanks Sarah and thanks to the makers of Nicorette, whoever you are.

I was able to go from this.....

 

   To this........

In one easy step.

For those of you who may have been hoping I would find some new, non-nicotine based favorite things, don't lose hope.  We've reached the weekend and even though I normally do not consider the downtown Saturday market one of my favorite things, perhaps tomorrow it will evolve into a favorite thing.  We are on the hunt for delicious tomatoes.  But tonight, I am thinking a bucket of crab at the Crow Inn.  It's a weekend, and that generally poses lots of possibilities for potential new favorite things.

Drum Roll Please.....

I did it!  Survived day one relatively unscathed, and so has everyone around me so far.  When I woke up this morning I had talked myself back into quitting today, and was in a remarkably good mood.  The fine mood hung on until about 3:30 when I discovered I was incredibly out of my element.  I hadn't been outside enough.  I still smelled like I did after I had showered (no eau de smoke).  My brain was getting groggy from lack of chemical stimulation.  Then I remembered that I still had an emergency cigarette in my brief case that had been stashed away the last time I attempted to quit (approximately three years ago).  So I fished it out of the pen pocket in the briefcase and immediately crushed it and threw it in the trash. I came home and dumped out the ash trays and put them out of sight.  So I'm still off the smokes.  Almost 24 hours, and counting.  So far so good, but that is the honeymoon stage for you.  I survived the meeting at the bar after work with only diet soda.

I don't really feel myself, but not too bad either. Sort of like a fish who just recently found myself flopping on the beach.  Still plenty of water in the gills. As the water begins to recede, hopefully I don't panic and try to throw myself back into the lake.  I hope those of you who know my general attitude toward the fish are duly amused by my little analogy.

Tomorrow I will attempt to find something new to do after work on my quest to find some new favorite things.  Day One, accomplished.

The Last Supper......

Sorry to be so maudlin, not to mention sacreligious, but I have reached the finish line.  Or starting line depending on how you look at it, but no matter how hard I try, I am invariably a glass half empty sort of gal.  Mostly because I've already drunk the first half.  In fact since I took this photo, approximately 45 minutes ago, I am a bottle half empty sort of gal.  Down four cigarettes too.

So here we are.  I just had a terrifically satisfying court hearing, and I, nonetheless, spent the entire drive back trying to talk myself out of failing before I've even tried. In my head I have myself convinced that I shouldn't really quit mid-week.  Saturdays are the proper day to quit smoking.  A day when I won't be in the place where my routine is so routine.  Not to mention the fact that I was informed this morning that we need to have an office meeting tomorrow after work.  Office meetings in my office are not held in the office, but in the bar across the street.  Who needs that sort of annoyance on the first cigarette-free, booze-free day of my life....since the last time I quit smoking?  See how easy I make it to fail?  Honestly I don't like failing.  I hardly ever do at anything except quitting smoking.  But, as Fat Mike puts it, how are you supposed to rock and roll without substance abuse?  At least a little legal substance abuse?

So my friends, I shall finish drinking my lovely bottle of California bubbly, finish smoking these last few cigarettes, and try to talk myself back into quitting tomorrow, instead of postponing it until Saturday.  Quitting felt like such a fine idea when I had most of a carton of delicious nicotine treats left in the cupboard.

Will she slap on the patch tomorrow, or will she break down and postpone....Only the Shadow knows.....

Anticipation.

Carly Simon is a genius.  And today I do think this song is about me and my dearest smokes, so take that Warren Beatty.  As I write this evening I have 29 cigarettes in my possession with no prospect of getting more.  Sheer terror has set it.

I had lunch with my friend Jill today who asked if writing this little blog has made the build up to quitting better or worse than my attempts in the past, and I told her that it's always been this bad, I just didn't talk about it as much in the past.  Not with friends anyhow.  I am sure Bryan would beg to differ.  In my previous attempts I have tried telling everyone I was quitting, which makes it embarrassing when I've failed.  I've tried telling no one, which makes it easy to fail.  I've tried just telling Bryan and my mom, which makes it both easy to fail and embarrassing (and ridiculous when I start stashing emergency cigarettes around the house like some sort of mentally deranged addict....oh, wait.)  And now I am telling this blog and my friends who are followers, and everyone else, and hoping that I won't fail again.

Today, however, I started having those little daydreams about circumstances that might justify my quitting quitting.  I started thinking about places where I might sneak a smoke and hope that no one finds out.  Truly pathetic really.  But I pledge to this blog that on the days when I fail I will tell it.  On the days when I don't fail I will tell it and on the days when I am feeling pretty good I will tell it about that too.

So this evening I sit on my porch, drinking Coors Light and smoking in my cut offs and a wife beater (which is not my usual attire) and relish in the second to last moments (I still have one pack left) of the anticipation.

 Maybe I dress like this more often than I think.

Air.

Short post tonight. I am too tired to be attempt to be clever, and believe it or not, I have been trying.  I have decided that I am so tired due to a lack of oxygen.  Perhaps when I have quit smoking I will get more oxygen.  I'll probably still have the same allergies.

Two to go. 

Curiouser and curiouser.....

Within the last week I read an article that explained two horrifying smoking facts to me.  These facts have nothing to do with death and illness, but explain a couple of things that I have experienced in my many past attempts to quit smoking.

Fun fact number 1, heavy smokers metabolize caffeine 56% faster than people who do not smoke.  That means that my ability to drink all of the diet soda and coffee that I want with no negative consequences, will potentially be coming to an end as well.  For those of you who have never had to quit smoking, one of the many withdrawal symptoms is insomnia.  That combined with fun fact number 1, makes me want to reconsider....but I won't...for now....probably....

Fun fact number 2, heavy smokers burn approximately 200 to 300 calories more a day, with no associated physical activity, than non-smokers.  Blurg!  So in addition to having to resist the urge to put food in my mouth to replace smoking, and cut back on caffeine, and go without cigarettes, I somehow have to find a way to eat less or exercise more.  You have got to be kidding me.

Not today though.  Today I am eating some smoky delicious pulled pork, cole slaw, corn on the cob, deviled eggs, blackberry buckle and homemade ice cream.  3 and a half days to go before I apparently have to adopt the attitude of a Buddhist monk.  Can't freaking wait! 

Happy 4th too.

Here's the rub....

When I quit smoking I also have to give up drinking for some period of time too.  While I can smoke all I want to without having a drink, I can't have a drink without also requiring a nicotine treat.  So that is pretty much all of my vices.  I don't have any healthy vices.  There is nothing fun to me about exercise, except that fabulous first cigarette after a good cardio work out.  To be frank, I'm not even certain that I'll continue to be able to use the phone.  Most of my phone calls are taken on the deck with a glass of wine and a smoke, so if you call sometime after next Wednesday and I am unable to carry on a conversation, that is most likely why.  Please don't take it personally.

Also, I don't know how to celebrate anything that does not involve booze and smoking.  And I like to celebrate, practically every little old thing, and the big things too.  I've been known to celebrate surviving a Monday.  I serve alcohol at baby showers.  Bottom line, in addition to having to re-learn how to be outside, and talk on the phone, and find some new favorite things, I have to figure out how people who don't smoke, and who temporarily don't drink, celebrate stuff.  I have one thing to celebrate next Wednesday, a big accomplishment for my sister, so it's a good thing I should still have a pack and a bottle of Scharffenberger.  Last celebration.

For your entertainment, me celebrating it being mid-morning in Hawaii.....

Four to go.  Time dwindles....

In the Way Back Time....

Today while I was looking at celebrity gossip rags, a habit that I also need to rid myself of, but one addiction at a time, I ran across a collection of some of the most offensive and bizarre advertisements of days gone by. A majority of them were cigarette advertisements, and it makes me wonder how on earth any of the folks I identified in my last post ever thought smoking was cool enough to make me buy into eventually. A few of my favorites for your amuzement.

If I pretended that I was not mildly fearful of the potential weight gain, I'd be a fibber, but I suppose a few extra pounds are better than lugging an oxygen tank around with me.  More...

Not Santa!

I hadn't thought about golfing without cigarettes.  Thanks for that little reminder Miss Happy Go Lucky! 

Summer is the smoking season?  Makes sense since I consider outside the "smoking section."

Five to go!  The terror mounts.

It's Dangerous and Stupid....But it is Cool.

Before you say nuh uh, I raise you an uh huh! People all over the world would not take up this stupid habit in the first place unless it was cool. It smells terrible, tastes pretty damn awful, and makes you cough when you start, so there has to be something more to it than that.

Case in point....



James Dean. The epitome of cool. Had he not died in a car wreck...in a Porsche (also cool)....before he was 22 who knows if he would have kept smoking. If he had, who knows what would have happened to him, but as it is he just carried on a legacy of cool.

Then there was Marilyn, who still defines sexy. She smoked too.  We know her story (or do we....that is a little tinfoil hat humor). Accidental drug overdose at age 36...so once again, who knows what would have become of her.


There are oodles more of them.  Fifty or sixty years ago there was substantially less information about the death and destruction that cigarettes cause.  Still, cool has already been defined.  The world is trying very hard to redefine cool as healthy, as something that believes in moderation and preservation, but it is going to take a long time to get from this.....

 And this....

to an entirely new picture of cool.  We'll get there though.  Luckily, I don't care about cool anymore.  I haven't cared about cool when it comes to smoking since about 1994.

Down one more pack today.  Only six more to go.  Eek!

My Neighbor

I live in the sort of neighborhood that you can age like a tree. The outermost ring is made up of the old, fine, historic homes of Boise, circa 1895 to 1920. The slightly inner ring, the more modest homes of the 1930s to 50s. Directly beyond that the ultra hip 1960s, and beyond that the homey, eccentric 1970s and 1980s homes extend into the foothills. That is the ring that I live in. Above me are the 1990's through early aughts homes, and above them, WAY above them, are the people building on the rim. We have fantastic views and three amazing decks where I deeply enjoy sitting and smoking and drinking wine, or sitting in the hot tub drinking wine, or standing on the deck when the snow is too deep in the chairs to sit, and smoking. I am an outside only smoker.

On my way to work every day I drive by one of the lovely 1930's homes with a wrap around covered deck. It's light yellow and invariably, March through October, is covered in beautiful hanging plants. Another fixture on this wrap around covered porch is a lovely neighbor, who I always pictured as myself in thirty years. Except for the fact that she is at least four inches taller than me and has at least twenty-five pounds on me (in addition to the thirty years), we could be dead-ringers for one another. Except she is also brunette(ish).

I've driven by her lovely house on my way to and from practically everywhere for the last five years. In the mornings I find my neighbor drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes on her porch, and in the evenings I find her drinking a beer, or a glass of wine, or some other delectable beverage on her porch, and smoking. When I pass, I give her a little mental encouragement and myself a little mental reassurance that I am not alone in one of my favorite things.

About three months ago my neighbor disappeared from her porch. About a week ago another woman reappeared. She is much older looking than my neighbor on the porch and has lost all of her hair. She is obviously sick and has had chemotherapy and I don't really know her and I can't really help her. I don't see myself as my neighbor anymore and I don't want to. I hope she gets well, and I am planning to.

Nobody Likes a Quitter!

I realized a few weeks ago that since I am now 36 years old, I have officially been a pack a day smoker for half of my life. I'm not terrifically old, but honestly, that is a lot of cigarettes. I've had these little "smoking is bad for me, I should stop moments" over the years, and have quit at least seven times in the past. Once for almost a year. Problem is....I really love smoking. The solitude of a cigarette (or half a pack) and a glass of wine (or a bottle) after a long day of work is truly and honestly my idea of an ideal evening. When Bryan (my very darling husband who says, quit, don't quit, but please stop talking about it) and I go on one of our tropical vacations, one of my favorite parts of vacating is a long morning on cabana porch with several cups of coffee and a cigarette (or half a pack.)



Nevertheless, having smoked for half my life, it is time to find some new favorite things. Yesterday I decided I had bought my last carton, so the countdown is on. When the carton is up, the madness begins. My hope is to record here at least one thing a day that reminds me why I am quitting. Most likely there will be some regular rants about the things I see that remind me why I love smoking too. I'll be updating this little blog regularly with all the fun and craziness, anxiety, sleep deprivation, and other entertaining withdrawal symptoms for 365 days. Let's see if this time it sticks.