Can you believe it’s only been one week since I quit smoking?
My lungs are kinda clearing up from the quitter’s flu, but they’re still tight in the center. I’m taking some guaifenessin before bedtime, and using my albuterol inhaler when it’s needed, so my breathing is under control. Making some good progress in the coughing and hacking thing, too; every cough brings me closer to better breathing.
So, what have I learned in this past week? Phfththfhthpht, I dunno. I know that I can survive quite well without smoking; I know that I have a nature that allows addiction; I know that telling people that I’ve quit smoking gets a lot of happy, positive responses, but every time they see me my non-smoking and their smoking are always the topic of conversation. There is nothing else to talk about, really, as long as people are still smoking, and drinking, and taking drugs, and having premarital sex, and extramarital sex, and voting Democrat, and not using cable TV, and when people are doing all that while driving. sighs As a country we’re not having fun anymore — we’re headed to Conservativeland; apparently these past two decades of special-concerns groups throwing scare tactics at the general public have finally scared us sober, straight, and clean … and homogenous, and dull, and uninteresting. There’s nothing else to talk about in life; it’s all about my non-smoking. Yep.
So, after having a pack a day (on average) for the past eight years, going without a single cigarette for a full week has been an exercise; I’m still seriously craving one. I’ve gotten praise for my duration, but it doesn’t take too much resolve, really, when I’m quitting for my own health. I scared myself sober. And the fact that I didn’t start smoking until I was 23 allows me plenty of memories and habits from the days when I was still a pinklung; I have a reference point to gauge my lifestyle.
Just so long as I can get my lungs back in good shape so I can live like I did back then without running out of breath.