Quit Day 41; Chantix Day 60

Edited the Title: Because I really can't do math! Snort!

Wow -- seriously, was today the 60th day on Chantix? No wonder.....

Many, many posts ago, I noted that stress happens. It happens all the time. Traffic stinks or the kids get mouthy or North American marsupials try to move into your laundry room. Stress happens all the time, to absolutely everyone, and it's only us nicotine freaks who start lamenting, "If only I hadn't quit smoking!"

Today, though... Today was my day to totally flip out.

I made it to Franklin and back yesterday without smoking. In fact, I got stuck in traffic behind a bus that broke down and caught on fire, so I was actually in my beloved Prius for four hours instead of just 2 hours and 45 minutes. And I was late for the workshop. And it was nerve-wracking. And blah blah blah. It's stress, y'all. Everyone goes through it all the time.

And I didn't smoke.

I got home around 2:45 in the morning, and then I realized how very little I understand about the business. If it were a matter of being invited to go someplace and teach people how to scrapbook -- and to get paid for it because they really just loved me to death or whatever -- that would be one thing. But the business inherently comes with math-related issues. Like, supplies. Supplies must be purchased. Supplies must be shipped. Supplies must be paid for. And -- if the supplies are not strictly part of the workshop process, then supplies must have state sales tax applied to them.

And computers have to be told which supplies to purchase, and computers must be told which taxes must be paid.

And -- I have never been particularly good at these kinds of tasks. The Tennessee state resale tax code is written in a language that I am pretty sure doesn't originate on this planet. It looks like English, but when you read it out loud, it's like the words don't go together to make coherent thoughts. In English. Maybe they make coherent thoughts in other parts of the universe, but not here at my house, they don't.

Don't ask me about the ordering process. I will literally start crying again. I do not understand that computer program. I do not. I do not. I am embarrassed beyond all comprehension to admit that, because my favorite sister in the whole wide world is a computer programmer, and I know that if she looked at it, she would be embarrassed for me to be so utterly clueless when it comes to filling out those forms.

So. OK. I woke up this morning, and I was out of Chantix. Friday afternoon was beyond hectic, and I didn't have a chance to refill the prescription. I have missed the occasional dose, so I just finished 56 days' worth of pills on the 59th night. I was due another dose by this afternoon.

I tried to figure out the computer programs. I didn't succeed. I tried to calculate state sales tax. I didn't succeed. And then I realized, "This is just like math," and then I started crying.

Wait -- let me check the calendar -- No, I really am not being unduly hormonal. Sorry. I know every guy reading this blog is probably shaking his head and rolling his eyes, but no, it's not the phase of the moon. It's just an unusual amount of stress, that's all.

I cried and cried and cried. I left the computer. I couldn't concentrate on TV. (Why can't I find a decent newscast during the day? CNN Headline used to be news. Now it's news-ertainment or some giddy crap with excessive computer graphics and buxom broads chirping the headlines at me and exhorting me to send her email to tell her what I think about the news. ARGH!)

And -- That -- was when I realized, in all my pacing and sniffling and gnashing my teeth -- that's when I realized, "What I really want is a cigarette."

To say I started really bawling then is a massive understatement. I cried like little kids do. I cried so hard I couldn't catch my breath. I called my husband and sobbed over the phone. He told me to go to the pharmacy and get my next dang dose of Chantix.

And that's what I did. I stood there in the Rite Aid pharmacy, sniffling and hiccuping and gazing balefully at the pharmacist with my red, puffy eyes, and he filled that prescription so fast, it would make your head spin. Actually, I got a box that looked like the starter box of Chantix, but he assured me that they were just out of the regular dose, and he had pried open the starter box and replaced the 0.5 mg sleeve of pills with regular 1.0 mg pills. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and thanked him.

I made it through the storm. I was more than a bit weepy all day long, but I made it without buying cigarettes or smoking. I was just so emotionally distraught that I wasn't thinking straight. Focusing on getting my prescription refilled was what got me through the crisis. I don't know if I needed the next pill, but it was easier to work toward that than it was to go through another fifteen minutes of wanting to smoke.

Just when I think I'm out of the woods... Well, I still have plenty of Chantix, and a whole 'nother month to work on getting past this emotional neediness of mine.

Quit Day 47. That's *so* cool. I'm so glad I made it through another day.