Did I mention that I like it?

Well, its been two weeks without a cigarette. Ok, except that one stale one I found under the seat in the car that I smoked in the kitchen a week ago last Saturday. Yeah, I know, I can’t believe I smoked it either.

I know smoking is bad for me and bad for those close to me. I know it makes my breath horrendous and makes my clothes stink. It’s an expensive nasty dirty habit that once I get started can’t control.

But I like it.

I hadn’t smoked in over a year but thought, Ok, I can now control when and how often I smoke now that I’m not addicted. Ha! That worked for a month. I’m just going to smoke one cigarette a day after work to unwind. Then I was only going to smoke outside since I could definitely see what a difference not smoking in the house made. Then my inlaws came and smoked like chimneys for a week straight. I told myself, what difference does it make if you smoke inside or outside now?

This must surely be how alcoholics feel. I can handle it. I’ll just have one.

So it came to be after just three months, I was smoking just as often and just as much as before I quit a year ago. LOSER! Big Daddy didn’t say much but the girls were killing me softly with their disappointment.

So I quit, again. At least I have practice at quitting so it wasn’t as bad as last time. But that damn voice in my head that argues with me all the freaking time won’t quit whispering, “you know you want one, just go buy a pack, ask your neighbor for one, hang out at the smoking area at work, someone will give you one, just one more to get over the hump.”

And on and on the voice goes, like finger nails on a chalk board.

The end of week two was really difficult. I found myself in church, grumpy, in the back row, not hearing the sermon about lying, thinking about a cigarette buzz. Wow, I can’t believe I made it thru. I really thought I’d stop at one of the four different places I pass on the way home that sells cigarettes. But I didn’t. I went home and grumped about anything that caught my fancy. That kinda made me feel better.

So I’m driving to work and parking a piece of nicotine gum in my check, feeling pretty good. I park and start to gather my stuff together, lunch, crochet bag, daytimer, hey, what’s this? A pack of cigarettes in the cubby hole of the dash. Surely its empty and just needs to be thrown away.

Crap, six stale cigarettes.