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.