Twice as much double trouble

Double trouble in a single window.

Here's the trouble with making so, *so* many things out of paper -- they look easy, and everyone wants to copy them.

And then I'm left wondering -- if they're so easy, why am I the only one doing them?

Truth is, I did these a couple of week ago. Since then, I've moved on. And I sit here wondering if I should sell them on eBay instead of keeping them. Not that I don't love them. In fact, I do love them. But if they would bring in money, shouldn't I sell them?

As I've said many times in the last ten or twelve weeks - stress happens. I can't just say, "great week to quit smoking," because, frankly, *any* week is a terrible week to quit smoking. Stress never quits. It always happens. If you leave your family and move to a cave, the cave is going to start leaking or flooding or becoming infested with fleas. That is the nature of the human condition. As Gilda Radner herself always said, "It's always something."

And I can't even claim to one fraction of the brilliance that Gildna Radner displayed in her pinkie finger. So I'm just left here quoting her and clinging to my delusions of -- if everyone goes through this, then OK, those of us giving up nicotine go through it, too. And at the end, maybe some of us are one fraction as cool as Gilda was.

But not me -- I'm just some nobody in East Tennessee, trying to quit smoking.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, the wilds of East Tennessee. I got my prescription re-filled today. It was back up to $ 129.99. I don't know why, and I can't begin to explain the thinking of Blue Cross Blue Shield. I'll pay whatever I have to in order to get my Chantix prescription. They can charge the market rate, or they can charge more. I would spend more on cigarettes. And I think that quitting is healthier than smoking, although I do miss smoking.

I guess I'm a lemming. Where's the cliff? I'm gonna throw myself off of it. But i'll take some paper and stamps with me, so if you want a professional scrapper to make a scrapbook for you, please email me. The taxes are killing me. I could use the extra income.

;)

Chantix Day 85, Quit Day 65

I soooooo suck at math. The last time I tried to post my days, I think I had it all screwed up.

Anyway, here we are at Quit Day 65. I'm into the last pack of Chantix for this month, and soon I'll be buying another month's worth of Chantixes. Chantii. Chantices. Hmph. There is no smooth way to pluralize this drug!

That's OK, I still love it, anyway.

Today was a funny day in the quitting-smoking effort. (Funny odd, not funny ha-ha.)

An acquaintance PM'ed me to ask about my experience with Chantix. And I wrote back to her and told her my experience so far. I'm always hesitant to say I "love" it. There are people who heard nothing but lightness and roses about Chantix, and then they discovered that it didn't work for them. And that sort of thing tends to make people feel bitter. And I don't want *anyone* to feel bitter. Ever. About anything. Your hair looks fabulous. Don't look in a mirror, take my word for it, *everyone* should have purple and green streaked beehives.

Anyway, I PM'ed my friend back and told her that I've only had mild side effects. Nausea for the first few weeks, and vivid dreams. Nothing that would keep me from taking the drugs. And in the meantime, I actually quit smoking against all odds. Because I *loved* smoking. And here I am -- not smoking. Cool.

Then I went to the dentist, and I was again asked about my Chantix experience. So I had to do the same thing all over again, but out loud. I'm thinking that I should get cards printed up.

But here's the thing: I had a really bad time at the dentist's office. It's a long story, and Mama always said if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all, but I have always had bad teeth. So... there's pain, and there's blood, sweat, and tears, and then they give you a bunch of instructions on your post-op care. And the number one rule is, "Don't smoke." Apparently, smokers get dry-socket all the time. Ya don't want dry socket, from what I understand. It sounds like it hurts as much as the conditions that lead a person to go to the dentist as often as I do in the first place, and that's not any fun at all.

I left the dentist's office crying -- Wesley was there to drive me home, and Emily fixed me some sugar-free lime jello, and I had tomato soup for dinner -- and sometime after the pain meds kicked in (it still hurts, but I don't care, uh huh, uh huh) I realized, "This would all be so much worse if I had a cigarette right now."

See, every cloud has a silver lining.

I'm going to go eat some ice cream now. It's going to be much, much tastier than cigarettes ever were.

Still... quit.

I have so many thoughts.

I don't blog as often as I think of blogging. Is that a conse-
quence of being busy, or a conse-
quence of being in denial?

First of all -- Vivid Dreams:
I have had some really strange, really vivid dreams in the last couple of weeks. Dreams that I thought about writing out. Dreams that could be movies, they're so darned weird. But I didn't write them out, and I didn't go knock on my neighbor's door and get myself shot. OK, I'm lucky.

Vivid Dreams, Part II:
My children tell me I was sleepwalking one night last week. Did I already confess this? I picked up a towel and said "sleepy" several times.

Vivid Dreams, Part III:
I dreamt that I bought a pack of cigarettes, opened it, took one out, lit it, and smoked it, and THEN I thought, "Oh, no! I'm not supposed to be smoking! ... Oh, well, I guess I"ll finish this pack. Don't want to waste the money." Then I felt guilty when I woke up. That's how vivid these Chantix dreams can be. I *really* thought I smoked, for heaven's sake.

Celebrations:
I have not smoked in more than 8 weeks. To celebrate 8 weeks without cigarettes, I went to the dentist for the third time in as many weeks and cried over how much work needs to be done on my teeth.

Temptations:
Friday night, I attended the theatre. I would love to post a review of the play I saw, but no one would read it or believe me. I saw a production of "Major Barbara" by George Bernard Shaw at the Clarence Brown Theatre's Carousel Theater in Knoxville. I thought the hardest part would be intermission. I have always run outside to smoke during intermission. The hardest part was actually keeping myself in the tiny, tilted chair. It tilted forward so that you have to brace yourself against your legs to keep from sliding out of the chair. "Major Barbara" was produced unedited and uncensored, so it was more than 3 hours of Shaw rantings. And only a fraction of the actors could actually pull off those rants and raves, so I was gritting my teeth, digging in my toes, and trying *desperately* not to spill out of my chair for more than three hours. When the play ended and the audience finally stood up to run away screaming, a woman three chairs down from me collapsed into the aisle because her legs were exhausted from the exertion of keeping her in the chair for more than three hours. That has nothing to do with smoking or quitting smoking, but it bears commentary, because apparently Chantix quitters are not the only people doing weird things to get through a day.

Ahem. Also, I really *did* want to smoke during the intermission. But I didn't.

And Then, Part I:
Tennessee really has passed a "no smoking" law. I heard somewhere that someone is challenging the constitutionality of it, and I say, more power to 'em. However, after the play when we stopped at Waffle House for a very-late-night supper -- I was relieved not to be around smoking. I am always iffy on how I'm going to react if someone smokes near me. Right now, I think cigarette smoke smells *delicious*. I just want to inhale it like mad. But I don't want to smoke for myself.

Keeping Busy:
I made 16 scrapbook pages this week. I should sell them and make some moolah, because even though I'm not spending more than $10 a day on cigarettes, I'm absolutely poverty-stricken. My teeth are going to cost a small fortune to fix. At least playing with paper and stamps keeps my hands busy and keeps me from thinking about smoking.

And Then, Part II:
I keep wishing we would go back to Cades Cove to go hiking. It's so ridiculously warm, even here at the end of October, I can't believe it. What would Abrams Falls feel like now that it's really autumn? I wanna go swimming!

The smell of success

I've been scrapping an older beloved kit -- Road Trip. This paper has a distinctive, fabric-like feel to it. I actually made a layout for publication using this kit's papers 'way back in 2005. Then I re-ordered more paper. I made another spread using the paper for another batch of papers, but it wasn't on assignment. And I ordered more of the paper. Blue, yellow, and white is one of my favorite color combos. I don't know why, exactly. But these colors have always made my heart trip a little faster.

Anyway. I play with paper. I no longer play with paper professionally. I used to write for Memory Makers magazine, and I was a freelance artist, too. For a few years there, editors would call me and ask me to write about this aspect or that, or the craft editors would call and ask me to make a layout about this thing or that.

I got burnt out.

Throughout that entire period, I was a smoker. I knew that smoke permeated my craft room, and I really didn't care. I couldn't create if I couldn't smoke every once in a while. Although -- smoking did force me to stop playing with the paper and glue and stuff. You need both hands to make a scrapbook page. I needed one hand to smoke.

So I smoked.

And now I'm not smoking.

Was it just the other day that I was saying that I don't perceive an increased ability to smell or taste?

Well, my tastebuds are still waiting to be awakened, but I think I am now officially perceiving a greater ability to smell.

I'm working with these gorgeous Road Trip papers, and I made a stack of the pages I had finished so far and put them in a plastic sleeve for safekeeping. And as the stack slid into the sleeve, I couldn't help it. I inhaled. And darn it... the paper smelled like stale smoke.

Dang, dang, dang.

All the precautions I've taken over the years to protect my most beloved batches of paper... and for Road Trip at least, it was all for nothing. Smoke permeated my paper.

Dang it!!!!

Now, the pages still *look* sublime, and that's what really counts, right? But ... I'm so disappointed. Stinky smoke smell! What a bummer!

On the other hand... the very fact that I can *tell* the paper smells rotten... that's a good sign, isn't it?

I am two weeks away from the recommended stopping point on Chantix. As I've already reported, my sister Amy is already off the nicotine patch. AND... she still isn't smoking. I think she has successfully broken the habit!!!!!! YAY, YAMY!!!!!!!!!

But me?

Time will tell. My doctor gave me the option of staying on Chantix for *six* months. I'll decide how I feel some other week. Right now, I still want my crutch! But I'm going to use it go smell the roses. Figuratively speaking.

Hey! Do I smell a skunk? Oh, no, the windows are open to let in the cool night air! I'll go close them. And then I'll be grateful for my increased sense of smell!!

Third Time's the Charm, Pt. II

Well, I can't blame Blogger this time. The truth is, I've tried twice before to write this post, and both times, I wrote something the length of a meaty novella.

I swear, this time I'll be brief.

I just thought it would be interesting to say how I first heard about Chantix. On Maggie's brilliant blog, we all know that she found it because her friend J mentioned it to her. The rest is -- literally -- history. Maggie trusted her friend, she asked her doctor for Chantix; she didn't have traumatic side effects; and Maggie quit smoking. (She also inspired a slew of Chantix bloggers to keep up the good work, but that's another story for another day!)

So I thought -- do you guys know how I heard about Chantix?

Of course not. You don't dwell inside my head. That's OK; that's why I write.

The truth is, as I have mentioned before, I was just being polite this summer when I said I was gonna quit. I think people are polite that way. We always declare, "I can quit any time," and if we don't mean it, we are being polite and saying what our loved ones want to hear. We say all kinds of things to be polite, from "how do you do" to "that's a lovely scarf!" If you're Southern, you say those things so many times per day, you don't even think of them as polite declarations. They're part of normal conversation.

For smokers, saying, "I'll quit someday," is akin to these daily forms of conversation.

I have tried to quit before. I did not succeed. I tried hypnosis once, cold turkey twice, and the nicotine patch twice. I quit when I had my first child. I quit for almost a month then. Between 1985 and 2007, that month was the most successful quitting period in my life. And that was in 1988. It honestly felt to me as if I could NOT quit smoking.

But I was raised to be mannerly, and that meant that every once in a while, I would have to declare an intention to quit smoking, and then I would have to give it the old college try.

I honestly hated trying to quit smoking. I honestly loved smoking. So I didn't mean it when I said I was going to try to quit again. I was just being polite.

Fortunately, I was really, *really* polite, and I told everyone who would listen that I was going to try to quit smoking again. (I had to warn them in advance of the terrifying mood swings.) (That's just polite, after all.)

My sister Amy had mentioned that *she* was going to try, too, and I really thought -- to be ultra polite -- that I should bolster her attempt by trying to quit, too. Especially since she had never tried to quit before. I didn't want her to feel like she was all alone.

Two of my dearest friends -- both online and off -- are nurses. One lives in Scranton, PA, and the other lives in Tampa, FL. They both rock. I see them every other year when I meet my girlfriends in Disney World for a romp around the Food & Wine Festival. Anyway, entirely separately of each other, and without any prompting whatsoever, both Linda (PA) and Diana (FL) wrote enthusiastically and said, "If you're going to quit smoking, are you going to try Chantix? Lots of people are having great success with it!"

I had never heard of the drug. There weren't commercials on the TV for it. I didn't read about it in a magazine. I -- and I consider myself fairly well-informed, if only because I read everything that passes in front of my eyes -- had no idea what Linda and Diana were talking about.

So I looked it up. And I called up a doctor, and I made myself an appointment. Iiiii ... needed to make that appointment. I am not a spring chicken any more, and my skinny-chick metabolism threw in the towel three and a half years ago. I've done nothing but gain weight since then. When I met with the doctor, I told her, "I need to quit smoking, and I need to lose weight." She prescribed Chantix and handed me a photocopied diet sheet that was so impossible, I tossed it after three days. I didn't even *try* to diet. I figured, "Quit smoking first, and then address the weight thing."

71 days later, I think I'm getting the hang of this quitting smoking thang.

Now, I do wonder how this will all end. My brilliant and strong sister quit smoking using just the nicotine patch. She's not even wearing nicotine patches any more, and she isn't smoking. I, on the other hand, am not smoking, but I've set perpetual alarms on my cell phone to remind me to take my Chantix because I still sometimes feel quite fragile and as if I might buy a pack of cigarettes. I don't *want* to smoke. But -- sometimes -- I'm afraid I *might*.

But Chantix is making it possible for me to *forget* the habits of smoking. I mean -- when you've smoked for more than 20 years, it really does feel automatic. You get a cup of coffee, you light a cigarette. You finish a meal, you light a cigarette. You take a break, you light a cigarette. You drive 4 hours west, you light MANY cigarettes to pass the time.

I'm .... losing that natural reach-for-the-cigarettes feeling. It is gradual. It really is the hardest part of quitting smoking, in my honest opinion. It's like... losing a tooth. For weeks after, your tongue seeks out that hole in your mouth. Where is the tooth? It's gone. Why? Just because. OK. Where's the next tooth going to come in? Right there, be patient. OK. Where is the new tooth?

Only -- it's not a baby tooth I lost. It's a 22-year habit. I was a serious smoker. And to go for an hour without smoking is an accomplishment. I eat breakfast without a cigarette. I drink coffee without it. I record podcasts without it. I ... *live* ... without lighting a cigarette.

I'm so glad I wasn't one of those unfortunate people who reacted badly to Chantix. I do have the vivid dreams. (Not scary vivid -- just very colorful, very realistic *fun* dreams.) I did go sleepwalking just a few nights ago. (My kids tell me I picked up a striped towel and said, "Sleep sleepy sleepy sleep sleepy." Not bad for somnambulism!) I do have the nausea, and I have to be *very* careful to eat a serious meal before I take a pill, not just a couple of soda crackers. But I can take the Chantix without turning suicidal.

And I'm so glad, because the cigarettes were already killing me. I didn't need the extra push.

3rd time's the charm

I've tried twice over the last week and a day to leave a message, but Blogger opposed my trials. Hmph! Here's the third try --

I continue to keep my hands busy by playing with paper, and Club Scrap continues to keep that a worthwhile pursuit by their incomparably gorgeous materials.

I am fine. I have not broken down and smoked. One of the Chantix quitters -- an anonymous one, so I shan't break her veil of secrecy -- wrote to me and confessed that she was quite distressed by my last blog post.

Let me make this clear: Last weekend's crisis wasn't a result of Chantix. It was just a hard weekend for me. And I made it through without smoking. So if anything should encourage new quitters, that's the one that should do it for you.

If anything, I credit Chantix with making me a quitter. I still think I was just being polite when I said I was going to try to quit smoking. Chantix made that polite disclaimer a reality. Not me. Chantix.

And I still don't check the GetQuit website every day. It has not been as good as the bloggers for me in terms of inspiration!

As for busywork to keep my hands from reaching for cigarettes... I guess the card-making and scrapbooking has done its job. I really don't reach for cigarettes the way I used to. I'm almost quit for 7 weeks now -- I understand why the Chantix prescription suggests taking the drugs for 12 weeks. Sometimes I feel very strong, and sometimes I still feel quite vulnerable....

But the vulnerable moments are waning, while the strong moments are definitely waxing and growing in strength!

Someday soon I shall be able to declare myself an ex-smoker. In the meantime, I still look back on those momentous moments in the smoking sections, and I find myself hoping that the fun, vivacious, and warm smokers I met in smoking sections will soon find themselves in non-smoking sections with me, showing the uptight non-smokers how to behave in a party setting!