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.