Six years ago tonight I smoked an after-dinner cigarette with my brother and his wife on my mom's driveway. It was Michael's birthday and, though I don't specifically recall, we likely had corned beef and cabbage -- which I sometimes like and sometimes hate. It has everything to do with the corned beef. (I never love it.) What's up with corned beef?
I might have smoked another cigarette on my way home.
I know I smoked another cigarette at about 11:00 on the walkway between my house and the garage. I smoked that one very thoughtfully. I knew it was my last. And then I said good bye to the rest and tossed them into the trash.
I've been smoke-free ever since. Sometimes it's been really, really hard. At first it was. Man, I remember wondering if I could ever think of anything or do anything again without it somehow leading to a cigarette. Get the mail, talk on the phone, have a beer (or any other beverage except milk), take a walk, need to think, wanna get away, vent, cry, laugh, cry, yell, celebrate a touchdown, argue, relax, pick me up. Heh.
Now, I am always surprised when I realize how infrequently I think about smoking.
I can't say that I'd never have done it without the blog -- in particular, without the urging of my fellow quitter Ann (*sniff* there's no purlingswine domain anymore???) and the invaluable support of Cara, and each and every person who helped with their comments and emails -- but I know I wouldn't have done it six years ago.
Man, I love you guys! XO