Twenty days. Sweet! I am starting to feel less like a smoker trying to quit and more like a non-smoker; a fairly bizarre and unusual new reality I am learning to accept. My wife pointed out to me recently that I was approaching my TENTH year as a smoker. That is a lot of years for one who hasn't exactly yet grown old. In fact, my trusty TI-83 informs me that I have currently been a smoker for 36% of my life. Are you fucking kidding me? I haven't even been having sex or known of the existence of Frank Zappa for as long as I have been a smoker, and it is time for some of my favorite activities of life to finally catch up.
On a side note, I have felt sick today (there is my 'Facebook update' for the day). That is an unfortunate fact of my daily life. I have, fortunately, averted plunging myself deeper into ill-health and rumbling, mucusy chesty coughs with the absence of my normally occasional retreat outdoors for a smoke. Admittedly, my cigarette intake was considerably diminished on days of sickness, but these few moments of utter retardation always took their toll; and I willingly accepted them, like an idiot. I always hoped I wouldn't cough with the first puff and prayed the terrible smell of snot and smoke would somehow coalesce to become a Mother's Day fragrance.
Today, I need none of that. It is weird to finally - in at least a respiratory manner - be thinking about my health. What a fucking concept!
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