Bay's Travail Blog

I can't believe I forgot

2008-08-27T02:08:00.003-04:00

I can't believe I forgot to post on this blog when I celebrated my first year's anniversary.

That was a few days ago.

I have gone an entire year without smoking.

A.

Whole.

Year.

I can't believe it.

I never would've believed it possible. I tried to quit before. I tried to quit smoking, and I failed, and I failed so spectacularly that I really thought I wasn't going to figure out a way to quit smoking before I was old and decrepit.

Then Chantix came along, and it changed all that.

I'm so glad that it's still available. I know it has been linked with some questionable and worrisome side effects. So if you are considering taking Chantix, or if you've just started taking it, and you're worried, then here are my warnings:
1. Be aware.
2. Don't push yourself.
3. If you're scared, stop taking Chantix.

Otherwise, I hope that if you -- like me -- can make it through the slightly scary side effects without trauma, then I wish for you the life that I have. I wake up and I feel good. I don't cough. I got through a whole winter without bronchitis. Food tastes fabulous. I can walk uphill without worrying that I'm dying. My hay fever isn't so bad. I'm saving money. I'm saving LOTS of money.

This can be your life. Don't give up!

Chantix rocks. Chantix bloggers rock even more.

I made it a year. You can, too!

Six Months

2008-02-21T00:25:00.002-05:00

Just a tiny FYI -- I have made it six months without a cigarette. I told Wesley, "This is my six month anniversary!" He asked what I wanted to do to celebrate it, and my son interjected, "Go to Disney World and walk past ALL the smoking areas!"

Harumph.

And of course, I did dream that I smoked half a pack of cigarettes and was very upset with myself. But it wasn't a Chantix dream -- not vivid enough to make me think I really did smoke. I do miss those vivid dreams!

...

Seriously, I never would've made it this far if it hadn't been for Chantix. I feel so badly for all the people for whom it didn't work.

Get Quit: No good at math

2008-01-26T02:31:00.000-05:00

Today I received from Get Quit, the spiffy online-support system provided by Chantix, an email which congratulated me for having been with Get Quit for six whole months.

Let's see.

I signed up for Get Quit on August 1st.

I tried to quit smoking on August 8th.

I didn't actually quit until August 20th.

So... how, exactly, does January 25th qualify as a six-month anniversary of anything?

Well, I shouldn't split hairs. I mean, I did quit smoking, after all. And I still haven't smoked yet.

I dreamed that I smoked two nights ago. I'm going to Las Vegas on Monday to visit my beloved sister Amy. (She quit smoking using the nicotine patch because she is Iron Woman.) (*I* tried to quit smoking using the nicotine patch THREE TIMES. And I never got anywhere close to succeeding.)

Anyway, I dreamed that I was smoking, and when I realized I was smoking, I felt bad. I worried that if I smoked, would Amy pick it up, too? Augh!

Later on, I woke up and realized it was a dream. OH! That's something worth noting. I, personally, feel that my dreams are still quite vivid. I've not taken Chantix in a month, but the dreams... still feel vivid. Maybe I just got spoiled. I always loved the vivid dreams.

So I dreamed that I smoked, but I felt awfully guilty about it. And I didn't actually smoke just because I dreamed about it.

Tonight I was in Knoxville, and I suddenly remembered that I was supposed to pick up something for my dear husband. Wesley smokes cigars. He has never smoked a cigar in the house, but he does enjoy a good cigar and he has, in fact, belonged to a cigar club for... well, I think about 7 or 8 years now.

I'll be honest, I do not like the smell of cigars. I just don't. I never liked the smell of cigarettes, either, but I put up with the smell in order to get the nicotine. Anyway, Wesley smokes cigars.

He asked me to pick up a humidifier thingie for him from Leaf & Ale, a shop in Knoxville where you can get tobacco and home-brewing products. I happened to be in the neighborhood, so I stopped in.

And dang it, there were people smoking cigars in there.

I could hardly stand it. The stench and the smoke were just *thick* and choking and *awful*. I tried so hard to be polite and not gag or cough, but the whole time I was thinking, "Oh, please, let this be fast so I can get out of here and breathe some clean air."

I made it out. I didn't gag or cough, and I *hope* I didn't look too hysterically desperate to the guys in the shop. After all, I do still support people's right to smoke. Tobacco is still a legal substance. I would still be smoking... if it weren't so darned expensive, and if Chantix hadn't been such an effective helpmate in my effort to quit smoking.

Whenever my six-month anniversary really is, I hope I start feeling like a real non-smoker then. Part of me is concerned. I'm flying to Las Vegas. I'm landing at an airport. Every other time I've flown to Las Vegas to see my sister, I've gone outside to have a cigarette while waiting for our luggage to get to the luggage carousel. If I don't have something else to occupy my time... and my hands... what will I do?

I don't know. But I'm looking forward to finding out.

Here's the thing, dear Chantix readers: If you found this blog because you're starting to take Chantix, then read all the posts on this blog. But if you're reading because you became accustomed to my take on things, then you need to switch over. I'm going to be posting my trip report -- as usual -- at Bay's Travel Blog. It was my original, and my favorite. Bay's Travail Blog has served its purpose. Time to return to business as usual!

Smooches, y'all!

Chantix, the sequel

2008-01-05T00:10:00.000-05:00

I had this fabulous idea today.

I'm hoping that some scientist already had this idea and is already working on the next version of Chantix.

What the world needs -- other than a pill that helps you to quit smoking -- is a pill to help some of us eat healthy.

I'm not saying "a diet pill," because that's not what I mean. I mean, wouldn't it be fabulous if there were a pill we could take that would re-wire our brains so that we didn't looooooooove chocolate and butter and cream and things with sugar in them? Wouldn't it be fabulous if our brains were programmed to think that raw carrots and celery were yummy treats? Wouldn't that make it so much easier to eat right and lower our cholesterol?

If they made a pill that could make me stop loving cigarettes... how far are "they" from making a pill that convinces me that potato chips are not the delicious crunchy delights that I think they are right now?

The thing is -- if they *do* invent a pill like that, I would like to be able to stop taking it now and then. Like, on my birthday. And on Independence Day. Because honestly, one should be able to have apricot nectar cake or big, sloppy chili dogs loaded with cheese *occasionally*. I mean, that's just fair.

Isn't it?

So scared!

2008-01-04T01:54:00.000-05:00

So. My sister called me and told me to go see "I Am Legend."

In her defense, she knew I already was thinkin' about seeing it.

Against her, though, she knows I'm a total weenie when it comes to scary movies. I cannot tell you how many scary movies I've walked out on because I was too scared to keep watching. I walked out on M. Night Shyamalan's "Signs." Too frickin' scary. I had to wait until my husband watched it on DVD, and then he had to tell me EVERYTHING that happened in it, and even then, I kept pausing it and running away and crying before I could finish it.

I just realized... I am a huge weenie.

("The Exorcist"? I didn't see it until I was 12 years old. AND! That was the edited-for-prime-time-TV version. No cursing. Very, very clean. And I still slept with the lights on... through all of 7th grade.)

(Not kidding!!!!!)

So, OK, my dear stister tells me to go see "I Am Legend." I take my 19-year-old daughter and my 15-year-old son. We are seated in the second row, and there's a teenager three seats down from me who talked NONSTOP through the whole movie, even though her own friends were whispering, "Shhhhh," and "Hush now," at her.

I saw that movie on Wednesday.

It scared the wubba out of me.

I didn't walk out, but only because I didn't want to traumatize my own very delicate children.

So.

On the night that passed between Wednesday and Thursday morning?

I had nightmares every hour or so. I walked around the house, looking for zombies. I was very, very worried about the mutating zombies who would expose themselves to daylight. I tried to hide in closets. In my dreams.

I am ... *such* a huge wimp.

Darn it, my darlin' husband wants me to see "I Am Legend" with him on Saturday night.

Why can't we go see a romantic comedy???

At least, no matter how freaked out I got? I never did smoke a cigarette.

Next time, remind me to blog about how irritated I am with the lack of black markets. I paid $130 for my last box of Chantix, and I only used three-quarters of that box. Seems like a huge waste of moolah! On the other hand, I'm not spending $11 a day on cigarettes. So I guess it all evens out!

J'ai oublie

2007-12-31T02:20:00.000-05:00

When I was 14 years old, when I was finishing my freshman year of high school and my brilliant sister Amy was finishing her freshman year of college, she said her favorite phrase in French was "J'ai oublie."

OK, I can't figure out how to make all the accent marks. I wish I were Canadian. But I'm not. So Amy said, "J'ai oublie" was her favorite French phrase ever, and I asked, "What does it mean?" and Amy intoned imperiously, "I ... FORGOT!"

Turns out that "j'ai oublie" means "I have forgotten." ROFL!!! Amy is exactly that kind of person, which is exactly why I love her so much.

And I still can't do the accent marks, especially in blogs, but that phrase is pronounced "zhay ooblee yay." So now, you forgot, too!

Anyhoo. The whole reason I'm posting this post is to tell you that while most people were dealing with the holidays, I was dealing with both the holidays and... the forgetting to take Chantix.

J'ai oublie.

I forgot...

To take Chantix.

And I had un-set my morning alarm, but I was still getting the nighttime alarm to remind me to take my 1 milligram of Chantix.

Even with an alarm... I still managed to forget. Christmas was crazy. I mean, it always is, and I still was ahead of the usual schedule this year. Yet, even with all that work and the alarms, I forgot to take Chantix. For *days* at a time!

So. Here it is, and we're almost at the end of 2007, and I haven't had Chantix in more than a week, and I haven't had a cigarette in more than four months.

This is *so* weird. I haven't gone through Christmas without a cigarette since 1984. And trust me, Christmas is WAY more stressful than it was back then!!!!

But I made it through.

I think I have quit smoking. I feel nostalgic when I think about all those holidays when I went outside to smoke. But I got through it all.

I am going to miss the vivid dreams. So far, I still have the vivid dreams, and yes, I have been sleepwalking a good bit. (My husband tells me that on Christmas Eve, I led him on a merry chase while I wandered around the house, totally asleep.) I'm going miss hanging out with Mama. The vivid Chantix dreams have been such a fabulous god-send in terms of dealing with my perpetual longing for Mama. She died in April, 1993. I think *anyone* who has lost their mother is going to tell you how hard that is to deal with. Mama was my best friend, and the vivid dreams have given me such marvelous hours of visits with my best friend. I did have one vivid dream of visiting with my father -- who died when I was 8 years old -- and *that* dream was not fabulous. It was just weird. But since I got on Chantix, every time I've dreamed of Mama... Honestly, y'all, it's like she's really here. And that's... such a blessing.

I hope I haven't totally scared some readers. It's not maudlin. It's just... really cool.

So, anyway, I haven't had the Chantix, and I haven't had the vivid dreams.

And I haven't smoked. In fact, I am still totally disgusted by the whiffs of smoke I smell in public.

2007 was such an amazing year!!!

I'm almost ready

2007-12-17T02:09:00.000-05:00

OK. I didn't post last weekend, like I said I would. I still keep up with a few of the Chantix bloggers, but only every other day instead of every single day. And I no longer read their blogs because I know that they're going through exactly what I'm going through. I keep reading them -- because they're interesting. Because I feel like they're my friends. Because they're fun. But not because it's going to bolster my resolve not to smoke.

I still make way more stuff out of paper than I ever did before. I am way more productive in the cards and the scrapbooks and the handmade boxes and books and doodads. But it's not because I'm desperate to keep my hands busy and to get my mind off smoking. It's because I became accustomed to it, and I enjoy it. Here it is almost Christmas, and I have some seriously kick-ass crafty things to give to my relatives. - Piles of handmade greeting cards that they can send to their friends. - Stacks of nifty little books filled with photos of loved ones. Heck, I even have tiny message boards that can hang out on the fridge door. I mean -- I have seriously made a whole ton of paper things, and it's not ALL because I'm jonesin' for a cig.

My doctor originally prescribed six months of Chantix for me. She said it was because I was such a longtime, heavy smoker. I smoked about two packs a day for 22 years. (Ya know what? I smoked more like 3 packs a day for a while there. I try not to remember that, I would love to deny it, but it's true. I smoked 3 packs a day for about a year during 2005-2006.)

Even though Chantix itself recommends 3 months, I was glad that my doctor prescribed six months of the drug. After all, Chantix itself recommends quitting after 7 days, and I failed miserably at that. I didn't quit smoking 'til the 20th day. Having the extra three months of drugs made me feel ... more secure. If that's possible. I mean, come on, quitting smoking is not an activity which actually qualifies for use with the word "secure."

But I am in my fifth month of the pill. I learned long ago to eat before I take a pill. I had to set an alarm on my cell phone to remind me to take the pill after several weeks. My sister quit smoking using just the patch -- and when she forgot to put on a new patch, she stopped using the patch.

My sister... is a *real* quitter. She amazes me. For all sorts of reasons for as long as I've known her, my sister amazes me -- but for quitting smoking and then giving up the patch before the recommended time, she *really* amazes me.

Anyway, here's the thing: I'm pretty sure I will not be filling my prescription for the sixth month of Chantix. I keep forgetting to take pills now, and that's with an alarm to remind me to take it.

And most importantly -- and I have so resisted this way of thinking --

-- Smoke repulses me.

It really does.

For weeks after I quit smoking, if I smelled cigarette smoke, I thought it smelled delicious. Just *divine*. Oh, if only I could bottle that irresistible aroma and pour it all over me! I would walk through clouds of smoke around the grocery store entrance, and I just wanted to hang out with those happy smokers and smoke with them! I would stand on the street outside the restaurant in Knoxville, and deeply inhale the delectable second-hand smoke like a dieter outside a doughnut shop.

I just ... so loved the smoke.

But recently --

If I run into a cloud of smoke outside the grocery store, I run through it faster than normal, and I hold my breath. The smoke smells so bad. So evil and bad and disgusting. It's like... Oh, I hate to say this, because I'm Southern and we just don't speak of these things. But cigarette smoke smells like... someone... had a bout of intestinal distress. It's literally repulsive. And I can't stop myself from making faces and running away from the bad smell.

I do not *want* to smoke.

And I never thought I would feel this way. I thought I would always be a smoker who simply wasn't smoking at the moment.

Now I look into the future, and I see it clearly, without a cloud of smoke hanging around it. I can watch a long movie and not light up first thing when I get out of a cinema. I can dine in non-smoking restaurants without feeling put-upon. (OK, all Tennessee restaurants are now non-smoking, and I'm so glad in such a perverse way. I honestly think it's an unconstitutional law, but I'm so glad that I don't have to smell smoke while I'm eating.)

My house smells better, my hair smells heavenly. I breathe deeply and it doesn't hurt. I don't cough first thing when I wake up in the mornings, and my sense of smell ... really has... become... more pronounced. Not my sense of taste, though. I still love the way everything tastes, and I can't tell that any food tastes better or worse now than it did before I quit smoking. I wear cologne now. I hadn't worn cologne regularly since I was 29 years old. There was no point. I never smelled the Private Collection over the stench of my smokiness. Now, I smell better than a freshly baked loaf of bread in a clean, new, brown paper sack.

I honestly do have more energy. I really am more positive and cheery and all that happy garbage that the non-smokers heaped on me unbidden when I was a smoker.

At the same time, I am in despair because my very best friend in the whole world hasn't quit smoking yet. I am going to see her in November of 2008. I hope that by then, I will have gotten over my phase of being repulsed by smoke. (Is repulsion a side effect of fear? Because I can handle it if it is.)

So this is where I am: My vivid Chantix dreams are becoming less vivid. (Maybe cuz I keep missing a dose.) I have gone through tons of stress. (Oh, my gosh, if I didn't want to smoke on Thanksgiving Day, then I will never want to smoke.) I am disgusted by cigarette smoke. And my sister, my other very best friend in the whole world, isn't smoking, too.

I think... I think I might be ready to stop taking the Chantix.

In a week or two.

But I refuse to give up the Chantix bloggers!!!

I'm here, I'm here somewhere!

2007-12-08T01:19:00.000-05:00

I'm here, I swear! I'm fine, too, and I keep meaning to post. I just... want the post to be *right*, darn it, and I have spent so much time lately cleaning house and baking and washing china... I am worn out when I get to the computer. But I do want to write something, and soon, about where my head is at, as far as quitting smoking and taking Chantix are concerned. I am in my fifth month of Chantix. I have not smoked since August 19th. And I honestly forget for large chunks of time that I ever smoked. Which is weird.

So this weekend, I promise, I will post something profound. Or funny. Or maybe both!

In the meantime, after watching a film (documentary?) about Don Rickles, I'm convinced the world would be a better place if we were all more like him.

Think about that. And then try to fold laundry without cracking up.

And happy Chanukah to all my Jewish friends!!!! Y'all know you're lovin' it! Light a candle instead of a cigarette!!!! Yeah! Very cool holiday!

Testing

2007-11-27T01:18:00.000-05:00

What's Your True Color?

My Result: Blue

You're blue — the most soothing shade of the spectrum. The color of a clear summer sky or a deep, reflective ocean, blue has traditionally symbolized trust, solitude, and loyalty. Most likely a thoughtful person who values spending some time on your own, you'd rather connect deeply with a few people than have a bunch of slight acquaintances. Luckily, making close friends isn't that hard, since people are naturally attracted to you — they're soothed by your calming presence. Cool and collected, you rarely overreact. Instead, you think things through before coming to a decision. That level-headed, thoughtful approach to life is patently blue — and patently you!

Take this test >

Mm'kay. Can I tell y'all the truth? I know I can, so I will, anyway.

I'm a big ol' psychological freak.

I know I am, because one of my many shrinks told me I am over 17 years ago.

(Like I hadn't figured it out before then. Snort!)

If any of y'all out there are into Myers Briggs Type Indicators -- and I am, in a huge way, because, frankly, that's what my Type does -- I am an INFP. And if you know anything about MBTI, then that says everything.

The thing was, when that one shrink told me my type -- after a really long test -- she said, "You are the weakest personality type."

I think she must have been an ESTJ, the exact opposite of INFP. Because only an ESTJ would think an INFP is "weak."

Just because we're introverted. Hmph.

I happen to think the Tickle test result that I quoted above fits me perfectly. However, I should say that I know a lot about personality tests, and therefore, I could've predicted I would be a Blue. I just know how they word the questions to skew answers in a particular direction. I can't help it. I'm an INFP. I'm a Blue. That's. What. We. Do.

I've done a lot of things over the last 17 years to try to expand myself beyond my personality restrictions. I work really hard at remembering that money is a real thing and that numbers aren't just a bunch of pretty mumbo-jumbo. I have *totally* overcome my inherent inability to stay on track when emptying an ice tray. I *always* refill the ice tray. That's a big step for us INFP's.

[Bunny Trail: I once found a website with individualized prayers for every MBTI type. The INFP prayer said, "Dear Lord, Please help me finish just one th--"]

I've learned how to load the dishwasher at least halfway, although I'm still unsure how to start the thing. To be honest, I really think it's enough for me to cook the meal. I shouldn't have to wash the pots and pans on top of all that work.

The point is, I'm still a work in progress. I know my limitations, and I'm trying to push past them. At least a little.

And in the meantime, sometimes I really do console myself with the fact that my serene veneer is in place and intact. People usually think I'm a lot more calm and trustworthy than I think I am.

So Blue? Yeah! I can take it!

And by the way, I saw someone smoking outside a restaurant tonight, and for the first time in a long time, I thought, "I don't want to join him."

That's growth. Even for an INFP or a Blue.

Broccoli Casserole

2007-11-25T01:36:00.000-05:00

Many, many years ago -- OK, really, it was November, 1998 -- my sister asked me to refresh her memory about Broccoli Casserole, since she was bringing it to Thanksgiving dinner at my house. I wrote back to her and tried to make the experience humorous.

Joke's on me -- the casserole is *delicious*! And I was almost making it up off the top of my head at that time.

From: BayuthL@aol.com[SMTP:BayuthL@aol.com]
Sent: Monday, November 23, 1998 3:53 PM
To: aturner@tva.gov; ltturner@cococo.net
Subject: Remedial Broccoli Casserole, Lesson 1

Dear Student,

Welcome to the wonderful world of broccoli casserole! Soon you, too, will amaze and astound your family and friends when you bake this tasty and nutritious sidedish for your next holiday gathering! Ever wonder what it takes? Well, we here at the Broccoli Casserole Institute have done years of mind-numbing research, sacrificing our figures, our tastebuds, and our gastronomical tranquillity working on this wonderful, much-loved dish. Sit back, and reap the benefits of all our knowledge!

[Editor's note: Please make sure we have your credit card number correctly before you begin reading the Lesson One. Our computers will automatically charge the low, low Beginning New-Student Cost of ONLY $2,419.38 the moment you begin reading. Also, be prepared for a finger-tip scan at the conclusion of the lesson. If technical difficulty is encountered, just lean toward your terminal for our amazing new retinal scan.]

REMEDIAL BROCCOLI CASSEROLE
***WARNING***
This recipe involves really hot things like ovens. And after the baking portion of the activity, the dish is really hot, too. Please use appropriate, government-approved, ULA-certified pot holders and aprons.
Do not stick your face directly into dish upon removal from oven. Contents are hot.
Do not remove dish with your bare hands. Dish is hot.
Do not try to climb into the oven. It is hot. It is also too small to hold the average American adult.
Do not try to filch cheese from the measuring cup. Cheese is addictive.
Do not try to eat casserole immediately upon removal from oven. Dish is too hard and may break teeth. Also, food is hot. Allow to cool 7-10 minutes before eating. When feeding to birds, allow small portion to cool for at least 30 minutes. Can re-heat in microwave.
Do not try to climb into microwave.
Do not use thermonuclear weapons to reheat. Thermonuclear weapons are hot.
Do not attempt to bake casserole in a plastic Tupperware-like container. It will melt in the hot oven, affecting the taste of the casserole for the worse.
Use fork or spoon to eat casserole. Knives can cut tongue.
Do not use knives.
Do not drop knives.
Do not even look at the knives, dammit, you're obviously too stupid to handle them.
Do not try to iron casserole.
And do not attempt to breathe casserole. It is thicker than air.
When transporting casserole from one location to another, do not drive with casserole in lap.

RECIPE
You'll need this stuff BEFORE you begin your fabulous, new cooking project!!!

2 10-oz packages of frozen broccoli
1 can of cream of mushroom soup
1 cup of mayonnaise
1 tablespoon finely chopped onion
1 egg
2 cups of grated cheddar cheese
2 cups of smashed up cheese crackers

(Another warning: Do not attempt to smash crackers by running over them with your car. Your car can do considerable damage to your kitchen.)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Cook broccoli according to directions on the package. Drain. Set aside to cool while you assemble the rest of the recipe. Mix together soup, mayo, onion, and egg thoroughly. Add in broccoli. Add in grated cheese. Smush into casserole dish, which you've thoroughly cleaned before this project. Cover with cheese cracker crumbs, smush into casserole. Bake at 350 degrees for about 30-35 minutes, or until the crumbs have turned slightly browner than they were before.

See above for warnings.

Thank you for purchasing our Remedial Broccoli Casserole, Lesson 1!!! If you're interested, we can send you Remedial Broccoli Casserole, Lesson 2, for only $3018 plus tax!!! Lesson 2 covers the exciting question: What if I tried to use fresh broccoli? And remember, those of us at the Broccoli Casserole Institute wish you and yours a very merry Thanksgiving, and a gassy Christmas, too!!!

Sincerely,
Brock Lee Kasser Oll,
President, Broccoli Casserole Institute of America
email: BCIoA@yummy.com

Place fingers against screen here for scanning:

Place face against screen for retinal scan here:

Thank you for your cooperation. We've called the police in your area to come pick you up, as our computer has determined that you are actually a fugitive from justice. Please remain where you are until the cops arrive to arrest your useless butt.

Turkey & fireworks & shopping, oh, my!

2007-11-25T01:13:00.000-05:00

OK. I'll be honest. I had one of the most truly, spectacularly bad Thanksgivings ever. My evil mother-in-law did things previously unseen by mankind's delicate eyes. She was evil. I have said for years that she is evil, but she really raised the bar on evil this year.

(See, a week before Thanksgiving, she called me and told me not to bring my green-beans-and-horseradish-glop side dish that I have been making for thirty years. She said, and I'm quoting, "Nobody likes it." She also said, and I'm still quoting her directly, verbatim, "Only Steve ever liked it," and the Steve to whom she is referring is my sister-in-law's ex-husband, and whenever his name is invoked, it's kind of like saying "Satan" in their language, so what she was really saying was, "Only Satan would like your green beans and horseradish dish." I mean, my MIL was quite thorough about this point. She even told me that my own husband doesn't like my green beans and glop, which isn't true, but who am I to argue with the woman who gave me my husband in the first place? OK. So we get there, and I bring marinaded asparagus, which everyone loved except the evil MIL, who pushed one spear of asparagus around on her plate for half an hour and finally sighed in disgust, "I just don't like asparagus." But wait. It gets better. Another relative gets three bites into her dinner and asks, "Bay, why didn't you bring the horseradish stuff for the green beans? It's my favorite part!" And I'm sittin' there, trying to think how to answer this without making the evil MIL look like a total bitch, and MIL jumps in and says -- and I am NOT making this up -- "Yeah, Bay, how COULD you be so SELFISH? Where is that horseradish stuff???" OMG. OMG. OMG. I was so shocked by this total, bald-faced lie -- after having been insulted to the core of my being when she claimed that no one liked the horseradish stuff - I honestly couldn't think of anything to say. I aspire someday to being a total bitch who can confront evil-doers when they're in my face and completely wielding their evil lies. I am not that person yet, because I just sat there and said nothing. I shrugged at the relative who was disappointed over the green beans without horseradish sauce. I promised to send her the recipe. But I never said, "The only reason there isn't any horseradish glop is because my evil MIL said no one liked it, and she forbade me to bring it." Like I said, it was a pretty bad Thanksgiving.)

So on the day after Thanksgiving, I went to the grocery store and I bought a turkey breast so I could make a decent Thanksgiving dinner at least for my little family. I totally lucked out, and they were marking down the fresh turkey breasts from $1.49 a pound to 89 cents a pound. Yea, sales! Yea, me! I got a bargain turkey breast and took it home.

Wesley's homemade dressing was leftover from the actual meal at his mother's house. (Not only does she have no taste in green bean dishes, but she has NO taste in dressing, because Wesley makes the most marvelous cornbread and sausage dressing, but evil MIL preferred stupid Stove Top stuffing. She's clearly unhinged.) I made more green beans, and I made the horseradish glop from scratch. I also made our traditional Jello salad. (We do the green Jello with cream cheese and crushed pineapple. Evil MIL prefers Orange Fluff, but she didn't even do that this year, after telling me that my own husband doesn't like my green Jello Thing.) (That bitch.) (Hmph.)

We ended up having a totally fabulous Thanksgiving dinner only 24 hours after Thanksgiving had been served for the rest of the country. Sure, I missed out on Black Friday sales for the most part, but we now have real leftovers and totally fabulous food.

Next year, I really am not going back to my evil MIL's house. It's just too awful to contemplate.

Yet, even with all that unnecessary and totally wretched stress, I didn't smoke. I didn't.

Chantix really *is* a miracle drug!

How Thanksgiving is testing my strength

2007-11-22T16:22:00.000-05:00

I am once again going to my mother-in-law's house for Thanksgiving dinner.

I used to host dinner at my house. My sister Amy would come with her husband Paul, my sister Martha would come, and sometimes another guest or two would join us.

This occasion has been blogged about before on my Travel Blog. I love Thanksgiving. Mostly because of the food. I love my menu for Thanksgiving, and I love my cooking. When Amy moved to Las Vegas, I decided it was too much trouble to cook Thanksgiving for only five people. (Also, Amy's contribution was always the world's best broccoli casserole, so it wasn't much of a Thanksgiving without that dish.)

One year we tried eating in a restaurant, which was a horrific and sad excuse for a holiday.

I can't even remember what we did in 2005. But it was probably even more horrific and sad, and I've blocked it out of my memory.

Last year we decided to join our mother-in-law at her fest.

Louise has a different take on Thanksgiving than I do. She's not all about homemade. And she's not faithful to a bunch of specific, fabulous recipes that have been passed down through the years to the point that it just isn't Thanksgiving without those foods in attendance.

So, OK, different menu. It's still better than eating in a restaurant.

I am trying really hard to deal with it.

But here's the thing: Whether it was Christmas, Mother's Day, or Thanksgiving, any day that I spent at Louise's was always accompanied by the fact that whenever I needed an escape, I could always go outside and smoke.

Always.

I could go outside. And smoke.

And no one would go outside to hang out with me, because they all hated smoke, anyway.

Now, no one is going to stop and think, "Hey, Bay isn't smoking any more -- doesn't that make her more good, virtuous and perfect like us?" Nope.

And I no longer have a built-in escape route. If I want to go outside, I'll have to just say, "Uhhhh... I think I'll go see what kind of birds are hanging out in... the... bare trees..."

Next year, I'm doing Thanksgiving for five people. If my daughter moves away and doesn't come home, I'll do Thanksgiving for four people. If my son leaves on a ski trip, I'll do Thanksgiving for three people.

Whatever it takes.

Because I no longer have an excuse to step outside of my mother-in-law's house.

This is, like, the first time since I quit smoking that part of me kind of wishes I could still light up a cigarette now and then. Mostly my cravings to smoke are for stupid reasons like, "I always smoked at this time of day." But seriously, smoking to get away from the madding crowd -- that was a good excuse, wasn't it?

Oh, well. I'll take some gum with me. And bird seed. Maybe I'll see a black-capped chickadee. I haven't seen one of those since... uh, last year.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!!!

Spoiled & feeling guilty

2007-11-20T01:29:00.000-05:00

I'm feeling a little strange.

It's kind of like... almost like... I'm ... sort of ... almost ... *spoiled*.

I am not wealthy. In fact, I started taking Chantix and quit smoking because I wanted to save moolah.

Sometimes I go shopping and complain inside my head about how everything costs more now than it used to.

My dear husband Wesley -- who has supported me and the kids for 20 years almost non-stop -- makes more now than ever before, yet we seem to have less and less money available for non-essentials. And even the essentials are becoming more difficult to handle. I'm gonna have to get a loan to take care of all our dental needs this year. And that's ... very upsetting.

Still, we're so much better off than some people, and I can't help but marvel at how serendipitous it all seems when you think about it.

Tasina posted this article --
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071119/ap_on_re_us/food_pantries_shortage_2

Food for thought, eh?

In the meantime, I have 8 days of Chantix left on this month's prescription, and I'm pretty sure I'll buy at least one more month of the stuff.

But I'm beginning to worry. A non-smoking friend of mine asked me about how things were going on Chantix, and I was telling her that I still have my unsteady and needy days. Then I thought, "Do I really?" When was my last really needy day? I don't remember.

My sister Amy -- or Iron Woman, as I call her -- quit smoking using nothing more than a nicotine patch, and she didn't even stay on it as long as some people do. When she started forgetting to put on a new patch, she quit putting them on. And she still didn't smoke.

In the meantime, I am a little scared to stop the Chantix.

Then my friend asked, and I happened to mention that I love the vivid dreams. My mother died 14 years ago, but when I dream about her, it's like she's still here. And y'all, honestly, my mama was my best friend. I miss her a lot. So with these extra-vivid Chantix dreams, if I dream about Mama, it's *really* cool.

So now I have to worry that I'm addicted to the vivid dreams. ARGH! No one should have to give up tobacco *and* her mama in the same calendar year!

Oh, well. I guess I'll figure it out right around the time I stop taking the Chantix, huh?

Slogans

2007-11-16T02:09:00.000-05:00

I saw a t-shirt tonight that absolutely cracked me up -- and probably not for the reason it was intended. This perfectly normal girl at the gas station sported a shirt that said, "i don't do drama". [Sic on the "i".]

Oh, come on. You went to a store, picked through 863 slogan t-shirts with bunnies and fairies and skulls and probably SpongeBob SquarePants, all of which had varying degrees of sardonic phrases, and the one you picked out was a black one that proclaimed, "i don't do drama"?

Girl, you DO drama. You just do the quiet kind of drama, so you can feel superior to those of us who weep and wail and wring our hands and make faces all the time. Personally, I love the face-making kind of drama. If it isn't loud enough to be noticed, then it's just not a parade.

And everyone loves a parade.

Including me.

I totally forgot that today was the Great American Smoke Quittin', or whatever they call it. I always hated that day. The last time I liked it, I was a freshman in college and hadn't *started* smoking yet. But since 1985, perky perfect people with gleaming white teeth were always exhorting me to give up for "just one day." Seriously? Just one day? Impossible. Now look -- y'all made me feel all inferior and slimy.

And those Great American Smoke Quittin' days just kept piling up. I've made it through, what, 21 of those days. And I smoked on every single one of 'em. Ha HA! Take that, you perky pod people! You can celebrate your white teeth, but I shall smoke cigarettes and sing like Bonnie Tyler, so there, ha HA!

Ahem. Those were the old days.

So I went to the grocery store this evening, and everywhere I looked, there were people crouched on the far side of their cars, outside in the cold, puffing on cigarettes. I was genuinely curious about this until I finally passed one of these crouching smokers and asked, "Uh... why don't you get in your car to do that?" He replied that if he did, his wife would be disappointed in him because he was supposed to not smoke today.

I nodded and said, "Ah. You know, I quit smoking three months ago. You might wanna try Chantix."

"The commercials with the turtles?"

"That's the one."

Then I went inside and bought some Starbucks Sumatra coffee beans, because I am spoiled rotten and can't drink normal coffee any more.

On my way back to my car, where a fresh new crop of crouching smokers were polluting the parking lot, I decided that if I were to buy a slogan t-shirt today, it would have to say, "Coffee Snob."

They make t-shirts like that, don't they?

Real? Or Memo-Chantix?

2007-11-11T02:04:00.000-05:00

The other day, I was ruminating about how my husband found it odd that I wasn't pushing my alma mater on my daughter.

See, Emily, my daughter, is almost ready to go to college. This is so mindboggling, I can't even begin to blog about the enormity of it. I mean, it was just last week that Em was a sweet little cooing baby in soft cotton pajamas, playing happily on a baby blanket that I laid out for her.

Now I have to contemplate the reality that she will go to college.

Soon.

Anyway, I could have sworn that Wesley commented on my lack of pressure to send Emily to the same college from which I graduated.

This train of thought had me looking up all sorts of things online and thinking, "No, I really am not being a snob. I'm just being realistic"

I mean, my BA came from TWC -- Tennessee Wesleyan College. I pursued some hours of a graduate degree at the University of Tennessee/Chattanooga -- for one semester. Then I got pregnant with my second child, and my mother had cancer, and I didn't finish my graduate degree.

The thing is...

I'm not a big fan of TWC.

I wasn't a big fan of TWC when I was in high school.

I think every teenager thinks that she is going to break out of the mold, escape from the hometown sameness, and become something incredibly special.

I started out my college career at Hollins College. (Now it's Hollins University, but it's still a same-sex school.)

I didn't thrive at Hollins. Parts of that school definitely contributed to the adult I've become. But probably not in the way that Hollins intended.

But the fact is, I only went to Tennessee Wesleyan because it was the college at home. My college experience wasn't so much a part of who I was destined to become, but a part of the fact that it was at home.

It was at home.

It turned out that -- a semester and a half into my freshman year of college -- I discovered that I didn't really belong that far from home. (OK, really, I was bawling my eyes out just a few days after my freshman year started, so I should have figured it out sooner.) I would have gone anywhere if it meant being closer to my mother. If I had lived in the same town as Brown University or Harvard or Cornell of Southern Cal -- that's where I would have gone.

It just happened that the town I lived in had a small Methodist college named Tennessee Wesleyan. My mother worked there. And it was a nice enough school. I got my liberal arts education, and that was important to me. I wanted a BA, not a BS.

But -- I'm sorry -- here's the thing: I'm looking at schools for my daughter. And I thought my husband asked me why I wasn't pressing to send her to my alma mater, which I clearly am not doing.

It turns out that he never questioned that. I can only guess that I dreamed it in one of my vivid Chantix dreams.

How weird is that? I don't know. I just know that it is -- to date -- the most vivid dream/circumstance of my Chantix/quitting smoking experience.

My sister caught a cold

2007-11-05T02:17:00.000-05:00

My sister Amy, who quit smoking before me using nothing but the patch (that bitch), caught a cold. And she didn't develop pneumonia or anything.

She says that she thinks this cold is actually less bothersome than the colds she got when she smoked.

I know that every time I caught a cold, it turned into bronchitis or pneumonia, or, hey, almost a year ago, I caught a little cold and developed total laryngitis. Seriously. Couldn't make any sound at all.

That makes it really hard to podcast, y'know.

The coughing -- well, I'm trying to figure out if I cough less now. I smoked menthols for 22 years. I kinda doubt my lungs have totally recovered. But I don't *feel* as if I'm coughing as much.

Amy says I need to go catch a cold and compare notes with her. I think I'm going to think about that before rushing headlong into a free clinic to lick the walls or anything just to give Amy comparative notes.

I'm just sayin'. Is all.

I continue to keep my hands busy with paper, as evidenced with the little book above. I actually made that book and 17 scrapbook pages in the last couple of weeks. I am slowing down on my frantic pace, though. When I think about it, yeah, I still marvel at the way non-smokers sit there without anything to do with their hands. On the other hand, it's kind of relaxing not to constantly be waving the smoke out of my face.

That's Sunday. I thought about posting about dinner -- steaks on the grill, marinated asparagus, roast rosemary potatoes -- but then I thought, "Nah, too much info."

So instead, I'll just complain about my lack of a cold. Amy gets all the fun stuff. Hmph!

10 Weeks, 3 days

2007-11-02T00:48:00.000-04:00

I keep starting posts and not finishing them. I really hope I finish tonight's post, because it's significant. Especially if you're one of those new readers who's trying to find out how Chantix might help you.

I have not smoked in 10 weeks and 3 days.

More significantly -- tonight, at least -- today, I didn't even *think* about smoking.

Not once.

Not until I was checking my email and thinking about the podcast that I was listening to. (They were talking about candy corn on How Much Do We Love. Love that!) Out of the blue, it occurred to me, "I didn't even think about smoking today."

I didn't even think about how long it had been since I had had a cigarette. (That's the 10 weeks and 3 days part.) I keep patting myself on the back about not smoking.

But it has honestly gotten to the point that if my cell phone alarm didn't chime twice a day, I would not remember to take the Chantix.

Just a few days ago, when I picked up my fourth month's allotment of Chantix pills, I was bragging to the pharmacist excitedly.

Today, I'm wondering, "If I totally forget I was ever a smoker... does that mean I've really quit?"

Bolstering my resolve is Tasina's report that a lungful of smoke tasted awful after her little slip-up. I had been wondering about that. Sometimes I really would like to smoke again. Sometimes I get a whiff of smoke and think, "Oh, that smells delicious." But I remember what smoking tasted like the last few days before I quit [with Chantix]: I thought, "Gah, this tastes terrible," and "Why, WHY am I smoking if I get nothing out of it???"

If it was that bad on just 20 days of Chantix, what would it taste like now on 93 days of Chantix?

And... OK, I have to admit that I like the look of admiration that I perceive in my husband's eyes. He was never very vehement or violent about my smoking. He was never mean about it, or derogatory. But I know he was disappointed when I tried to quit and went back to smoking. I know he was.

My children? OMG, they can't even remember that I used to smoke or that I have quit now. I do need to repaint the house, because they have started asking, "Why does the house smell like a hotel room?" ARGH.

But that's a project for another non-smoking day. For now, I just have to say -- I have made it 10 weeks and 3 days, and for a while I actually forget about smoking. Considering that I smoked two packs a day for 22 years... I think this is a freaking miracle.

Thank heaven for Chantix.

Thank heaven.

Twice as much double trouble

2007-10-30T01:59:00.001-04:00

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

2007-10-24T22:18:00.000-04:00

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.

2007-10-21T01:00:00.001-04:00

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

2007-10-13T03:10:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-11T02:07:00.000-04:00

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

2007-10-08T01:41:00.000-04:00

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!

Quit Day 41; Chantix Day 60

2007-09-29T23:34:00.000-04:00

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.

Pop quiz

2007-09-28T00:44:00.000-04:00

Well, Friday night brings a test to my resolve. Here I've been breaking my arm, patting myself on the back. Tomorrow night should be the real test.

I'm driving to Nashville.

Without cigarettes.

I haven't taken a significant road trip without smoking since my freshman year of college.

I wonder how this one's going to go?

There are other various points of stress and interest. Like, I'm teaching a class. Like, the supplies for that class haven't all arrived yet. Like, I have to drive three hours without smoking, teach a class, and turn around and drive home again.

Without smoking.

In the meantime, I was sick Thursday morning. I woke up feeling very, very profoundly unwell. I won't be too specific, because upchucking in my opinion is an indelicate behavior at best and darned uncivilized at worst. So let's just say I felt entirely unwell Thursday morning and didn't take any Chantix until very late in the day. Since I have to take it on a moderately full stomach, and I didn't eat anything until late in the day.

It throws off my entire schedule, but hey, I haven't smoked anything. So I guess I had enough Chantix in my system to get me through the indelicate part of the day.

Honestly, I am looking forward to the day that I don't *think* about it all so much. It's so much effort some days. It's easier on other days. I am conflicted at the moment.

Maybe Monday will be a nice, easy day.

No, wait, I have a dental appointment Monday. Darn it!

Oh, well, at least I know I'm not alone!

Five Weeks!

2007-09-24T03:01:00.000-04:00

It's been five weeks since I've had a cigarette.

Chantix's "GetQuit" site tells me that I can now officially call myself a non-smoker or an ex-smoker. It also cautions that if I have one cigarette, I'll probably start smoking again.

To be brutally, painfully, unpleasantly honest: I have not found the GetQuit feature to be particularly helpful in this quest to quit smoking. Taking Chantix: Yes. Blogging about it: Yes. Reading other Chantix quitters' blogs: Yes. Quitting along with my sister: Yes.

All these attributes have been extremely helpful in my quest to quit smoking.

But the GetQuit stuff?

Eh.

Not so much. For one thing, their grammar drives me crazy. "Less colds," one headline recently touted, and my insides cringed, "FEWER colds, FEWER colds, FEWER colds!" This despite my graduate school professor who assured me that English is a living language and I needed to loosen up about spelling and grammar.

I have obviously failed my old professor.

GetQuit has been cute. And it has been time-consuming when I need it to be. Otherwise, it has not been very helpful to me. I really rely more on Maggie and Tasina and the other bloggers. Or I rely on myself and my ability to distract myself when I would like to smoke. "Have a cigarette? No, thank you, I think I'll wash some dishes." Or, "No, thanks, I think I'll sit here and make some cards."

Keeping busy is better than watching the asinine GetQuit cartoons.

(I used to be the head copywriter for an ad agency from hell. Sometimes the GetQuit cartoons make me want to scream and throw Addys through a window.)

But in the final analysis -- cutesy or not, poor grammar or perfectly composed -- I'm still not smoking. I climbed a mountain, I cleaned my front porch, I made 11 scrapbook pages in a single week -- and I didn't light a cigarette the whole time.

Maybe they're right. Maybe I really *am* a non-smoker.

Weird.

Chantix side effects

2007-09-21T02:10:00.001-04:00

ADDED
February, 2009

This post is now a year and five months old, yet I still get more hits on this one than any other. I've gotten some very pointed comments about how evil Chantix is and how I'm an idiot for using it. Yet I have to say that after a year and five months, I'm still not smoking.

Chantix was the perfect drug. For me.

I'm sorry if it is not the perfect drug for you.

I understand if you think it's a dangerous drug. I agree to a point. Most drugs are dangerous in the wrong hands.

But I still love the stuff and am terribly grateful to it for making me able to quit smoking.

So stop writing to me about how awful Chantix is and how the government should ban it. I disagree vehemently. You can't change my mind. I promise I won't make you take it. But don't take it away from me and all the other smokers who could benefit from its good qualities.

Now, on with the original post...

While rhapsodizing about mountains and Zippo lighters, I totally forgot to mention the latest news in my own personal Chantix side effects.

The nausea came back for a visit on Wednesday. No idea why. I guess I hadn't eaten enough before taking the pill.

Eh, whatever. I got over it, and I still took the next pill that night.

Today I was surfing around the Internet and finally heard that at least one person may have died because of Chantix. At least his girlfriend thinks it was Chantix that did the trick.

This is sad. It's sad on so many levels. I'll have to gather my thoughts and decide how to address this issue some other day. For now, I have to write some stuff and earn my keep. And I still am not smoking, not even when I'm writing. Pretty cool, huh?

Smokies from the ex-smoker

2007-09-20T01:48:00.001-04:00

I was scrapbooking while the TV was on tonight, and I heard the distinctive sound of a Zippo lighter. Click, zzzzzzzzzz, phphphph, cuh-click!

It was Marlee Matlin in "Children of a Lesser God." I looked up and watched her exhale a cloud of smoke. And I was, of course, mesmerized. Smoking is pretty, darn it. It's so photogenic. No wonder it's still going on in the world today.

Someday I should photograph my Zippo collection. I love Zippo lighters. I have good stories about all of them.

My mother met my father during World War II. (I was a late surprise for my parents -- I really am not as old as most WWII couples' children are.) Anyway, Mama met Daddy at Maison Blanche in New Orleans at the height of World War II. Daddy was a Naval aviator. Mama was a secretary to the head of the candy division at Maison Blanche, who happened to be Daddy's long-lost uncle.

It's almost a scene out of a movie: "Good looking sailor walks into office where typewriters clack and telephones ring as 'Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree' plays on tinny radio. Shy, bookish secretary looks up and is instantly smitten. Sailor asks for long-lost uncle. Uncle proposes a night on the town in the Big Easy. Gorgeous rival secretary is busy. Shy secretary gets to go out on double-date with boss, boss' wife, and handsome sailor, then spends the next two years chasing handsome sailor to the altar."

It didn't take Mama two years. She snagged Daddy with a Zippo lighter. Everyone smoked in World War II, and Daddy was no exception. The thing was, with the rations and the hoarding metal for munitions and planes and such, you couldn't get a Zippo lighter. Daddy was using paper matches to light his cigarettes. Mama noticed this, and when he shipped out, she went to the counter at Maison Blanche -- which was a huge department store back in the day -- and told the girls there to let her know if they got a shipment of Zippos. Sure enough, a few months later when they did get some Zippos, they called Mama in the candy office.

Mama used up ration coupons and some of her hard-earned salary. She bought a Zippo lighter, and she promptly packaged it up and sent it to Daddy with a lighthearted note, "I noticed you didn't have a lighter, so I thought I would send you one. Here you go! Hope to hear from you soon!"

Puh-leeeeeeeeeze, keep in mind -- the entire time all this was going on, Mama was about 18 years old, and she was the only gainfully employed person in her entire family. Her father got occasional work, but he was disabled. Her mother was a real, old-fashioned housewife. Her older sister Sybil had been abandoned by a deadbeat husband, and Sybil didn't work. Sybil had a baby named Rodney. Mama's younger siblings were Dolores, who kept cutting school, and the baby of the family was Buddy, who was precocious and managed to make trouble where none was to be found.

Mama was supporting seven people on her secretarial salary, and she still managed to snag a guy that the Navy kept sending back to college with nothing more than a lighter.

I'm telling you, Zippos are good. Even if cigarettes are not.

The photo above is the Smoky Mountains. I don't know who introduced tobacco to the world, but whoever it was caused a lot of trouble for me and all the other happy smokers. I still don't think of myself as a non-smoker, but maybe I will be someday. In the meantime, I'm keeping my Zippos and my Smoky Mountains. I hope everyone understands. Some things are just too nice to be forgotten simply because they're related to smoking.

One Month

2007-09-19T02:28:00.001-04:00

This will be a short post due to lingering, overwhelming exhaustion.

I have not smoked a cigarette in a month.

To celebrate that, my little family and I went to Cades Cove in the Great Smoky Mountains.

I have been there before. Having spent all the summers of my youth in a girls' camp in the southern Appalachians, I adore the mountains. I love them. I love them. I love them. I cannot emphasize enough how much I love the mountains. I am not a beach girl -- I hate the salt and the wind and the crashing surf with all those biting fish and stinging things. I love the mountains.

But this time, we decided to go to Abrams Falls. That's a five-mile hike, round-trip. And it's up hill and down hill, and the sign at the start of the trail even warns that it is a hike of "medium" difficulty, and it could be a 3 to 4 hour hike.

It took me about 5 hours. I was literally the last person to stumble out of the forest Monday night.

People that I left at the falls... passed me on the trail.

Seriously.

I was the LAST person to walk out of the woods Monday night.

But at least it wasn't pitch-black. And I didn't get attacked by a bear or anything.

I do love the woods -- I particularly love the mountains. The verdant, fertile, black, old, rotting earth under the mountain laurels smells so delicious to me. It's so rich and sublime. Even in our drought, in the darkest, shadiest spots on the trail, trickles of underground springs made things muddy and mossy for me. I adore that kind of earth. I would live there forever if I could.

But I only get to visit.

Since I survived the whole ordeal, I do get to point out that I made it five miles and didn't need anyone to carry me out of the forest. Even my sister Amy thinks that if I still smoked, I would not have made it -- and I think she's right. I might not be past the point of being susceptible to lung cancer, but I am a lot better than I was 28 days ago.

I can't believe I still haven't smoked.

On the other hand, I am awfully glad I've made it this far.

Thank you, Chantix! And thank you, Chantix bloggers!!!!!! You guys keep me going when I think I'd like to have a cigarette!!!!!!

Scatterbrained but happy

2007-09-15T02:51:00.000-04:00

I am -- scattered.

I don't know if it's the Chantix. I don't know if it's quitting smoking. I don't know if it's that I'm 40 years old. All I know is that I am more than a bit scatterbrained since I started taking Chantix.

The image here is a flipped scan of some unmounted rubber stamps. Those of you who do not craft, stamp, papercraft, or scrapbook are wondering what the heck the purpose of this stuff is. It's ... more cost and space efficient than traditional wood-mounted rubber stamps.

I have stacks of these things in my house, the result of a 7-year- obsession with everything Club Scrap. Late last week, a Club Scrap member posted on the email loop that she was searching for the "Kit for a Cause" unmounteds. I told her I had them, and five days later, I finally sent her a scan of the rubberstamp sheet that you see in this blog post.

It took me five stinkin' days to send her a scan that took me five minutes to accomplish and re-size for email.

And then she wrote back to me and said, "Those are the 'Reach Out' kit UM's. I was looking for the 'Kit for a Cause' UM's, but thank you so much, anyway, and I'll keep looking."

Seriously?

The moment she said it, I knew she was right. I *do* have the Reach Out UM's. I *don't* have the "Kit for a Cause" UM's. Sure, both of 'em were for charity, and both of them were wonderful, warm sentiments and images -- but how on earth could I -- *I*, an obsessed and rabid Club Scrap fan -- how could *I* confuse the two?? And spend *days* being confused? And actually *scan* the wrong UM's and send a picture days late to the person who wanted to buy the retired and much adored UM's in question?

I think it's the Chantix.

The other side effect of Chantix that no one warned me about was -- I think I'm generally happier.

As in, not quite as clinically depressed as I've been for so much of my adult life.

I love therapists and I hate drugs, so I spend a lot of time denying my basic underlying depression. I'm a glass-half-full kind of person, but things always get out of hand when I'm not looking.

Since I've been taking Chantix, I've been cleaning the house. I let housecleaning slide most of the time. It's so easy to give up on it. I mean, if you clean something up, it just gets dirty again. What's the point of making the beds? Someone's just going to go sleep in it and get it all rumpled again in a few hours.

But for the last few weeks -- I've been doing the most amazing things. Mopping the kitchen floor every few days. Sweeping all the wood floors every day. Tidying up bird cages, moving boxes of bottles to better storage facilities, and heck, yesterday, I moved the couch and swept *under* it. This is not something I *do*. Unless I've lost one of my favorite pens.

And cooking -- I've been reborn. I know Maggie's talked about all her cooking efforts on her fabulous blog, but honestly, for the last year, I have been in the most severe and uncompromising rut about cooking. I cooked dinner for 20 years. I got good and tired of it. My entire family knows -- after months of training -- not to ask the worst question in the world, "What's for dinner?" I can go berserk over such a horrid question. Don't ask. If there's a dinner in front of you, that's what's for dinner. If there isn't, well, find something else. And do not risk the Wrath of Bay by asking me what I'm going to cook. I can't stand making that decision....

Except that for the last couple of weeks, deciding what's for dinner and then making it has been enormously satisfying. Roast beef, pork chops, or my beloved steamed broccoli with lemon zest and balsamic vinegar -- I'm perfectly happy with dinner these days. It doesn't feel like the insurmountable chore that it felt like three or four months ago.

Maybe it's the Chantix. Maybe it's just coincidence. I don't know.

Oh, that reminds me. I really don't smell or taste things better than I did before quitting. I keep wondering if that's going to improve. I do feel better, and my mouth tastes better when I wake up in the mornings -- but other than that, the only benefit from quitting that I can discern is... I'm saving money.

And that's cool. I'm OK with saving money.

It makes up for being stupid and cleaning house all the time.

Where did all my money go?

2007-09-13T00:20:00.000-04:00

According to my Quit Meter, I've saved almost $240 by not smoking over the last 24 days.

Seriously?

OK -- wait, let me quantify that last word. Shonda Rhimes and the cast of "Grey's Anatomy" has made the question, "Seriously?" terribly popular. I just want to let you all know that I seriously said "seriously" long before that TV show debuted.

I think it's a writer chick kind of word, which is why it just had to make it to the front of the entertainment world.

Oh, my gosh, y'all -- no one on Grey's Anatomy smokes. Not even the baddies!

Back to tonight's post: I have saved almost $240 by not smoking. Of course, I've spent $260 on Chantix so far. But I still have $65 worth of Chantix pills left! So that's a savings of, what, $45? YEAH! I think I did the math really well that time. My sister the math genius will let me know if I messed that up. OK, so I've bought two months of Chantix, and I've not smoked for three weeks and three days, and I'm already past the breaking-even point.

Now, my husband and I are "envelope" people. We don't use envelopes any more, but we are the kind of people who put our finances in order by putting all our money into categories. Bill money, grocery money, and daily money. We've been using this method for more than ten years, and it works for us. (Actually, Wesley was using that method before I married him, but I kicked him off track for a few years. And then I almost defaulted on my student loan, and then we got back on track by the "envelope" method. Our credit union gal loves us for this -- we are her most organized customers.)

So. I have had the same allotment for "daily money" as I have had for a few years. (We do have occasional raises in daily money to allow for inflation, y'know. Daily money used to be $15 per day. I don't wanna say how long ago that was.)

Now that I'm not spending some of my daily money on cigarettes, we have more daily money. Somehow most of it gets spent. But sometimes I have a little left over, and I tuck a $5 bill away in the secret compartment of my wallet.

This happens specifically because prescriptions come out of the "bill money" category of our family finances. If I had rolled the daily money surplus over into the bill money category, then I would not have been able to scrimp pennies together every once in a while.

And even though I've only been without a cigarette for about 24 days, I've already taken the whole family out for dinner once. In a nice restaurant. Where they wait on you at your table. And the drinks arrive in glasses, not paper cups. I mean -- this place had cloth napkins. I am not making that up.

I like that. I could taste the food; I could smell the food; I didn't have to cook the food; and someone else washed the dishes. And the whole thing was paid for -- out of what I had saved from not buying two packs of Capri Menthol 120's every day.

I rock.

My sister Amy rocks, too. She has been quit for more than a whole month, now!!!! And she hasn't lapsed at all!!!!! She is a rock star, and I am in awe of her!!!!

Then again, I have always been in awe of Amy. She helped me with my math homework, y'know.

Sept. 11th

2007-09-12T01:28:00.000-04:00

No matter which way you look at it, September 11th is a tough day in anyone's memory.

I will never forget where I was or what I was doing when I first found out what was going on.

As a homeschooler, I didn't turn on the TV when I woke up that morning. I made breakfast, I drank coffee, and I chilled out before starting to educate my children. Then around 9:30, I turned on the computer to check my email.

I was on AOL at the time. A very dear friend of mine -- Linda -- IM'ed me almost immediately.

"Isn't it awful?" she wrote.

"What?" I typed.

"Turn on your TV."

I didn't even get offline -- I went up to the front of the house and turned on the TV, and from that moment on, I was riveted.

I lived on my couch for three days. I didnt turn off the TV. I did talk to people on the phone. And at about 3:00 in the afternoon, I woke up my husband, and I made him wake up because I had heard that gas prices were being raised, and we needed to fill our tanks with gas and get extra, because of the price gouging, which I never saw, but I always heard about during that week....

A year or two later, we were at dinner with friends, talking about that week. Some of our friends were in another state on a golf vacation with a large group of golfers. Our friend said, "We were on the greens that morning. When we finished our round, we heard what had happened. And then we didn't feel much like golfing after that."

Instead of feeling total empathy with that party, I was struck by his disconnection. "Didn't feel like golfing"??? He's got to be kidding. I could barely function that week. I couldn't remember to cook dinner for my children. I couldn't get off the couch. I was absolutely slain by the events of 9/11. I bawled my eyes out every time I saw a recap. "Didn't feel like golfing"??? Is he insane?

Now -- MSNBC re-ran their entire original 9/11 coverage this morning. And I didn't join the broadcast until 10:00 or so. I saw the towers collapse. I saw the misinformation as it was read out loud by anchors as if it were news instead of gossip at that point.

I remember that day so horribly vividly.

And tempered with that recollection -- is the memory that I was smoking the entire time.

A month later, my sister and I went to NYC. I would like to say we were with the rescue and relief teams, but really, we were the tourists. We were among the first tourists to brave getting on planes and flying directly to New York City, and we were proud to do so. When I think of our memorable trip, parts of it are colored by the fact that it was less than a month after the attacks on the World Trade Center. The other parts are colored by -- we were two smokers among thousands of non-smokers.

Smoking

Let's face it; we can't get away from it. What joins us all here is the fact that we are all quitting smoking.

I spent days after 9/11, camping out on the couch and smoking.

Now I'm watching those same videos, remembering New York City in early October, 2001, -- and I'm not smoking now.

It's a whole new world.

Check with me in a couple of decades to see if this "new world" has improved any since 9/11.

No Glasses

2007-09-09T02:54:00.001-04:00

My daughter and I were just talking about how she hasn't noticed that I'm not smoking.

How can she not notice???

I guess it's a bit like having a friend who wears glasses, and one day she shows up without them, and you spend the whole day looking at her curiously and wondering, "What's different? I know something is changed -- is it her hair? Her lipstick? Her heel height?" And you feel just awful that you can't figure it out, but you're terribly surprised when you find out after 8 hours that she's just gotten contacts.

No glasses. How can I not notice???

Oh, well, as I was saying to a friend of mine the other day, "If you don't tell you you're fabulous, who's going to tell you the stuff you need to hear?"

I spend -- well, maybe an inordinate amount of time telling me I'm fabulous because I'm not smoking. I walk around telling people, "I smell good. I quit smoking." Sure, they look at me like I'm not right in the head, but they did that when I smoked, anyway, so I'm kind of accustomed to it.

But aside from announcing my fabulosity to perfect strangers, I also tell myself how cool I am. I wash dishes, apply lotion to my detergent-abused hands, and then smell them so I can tell myself, "The way these hands smell now is the way they'll smell in half an hour." And sure enough, they DO! How cool is that?

My hair? Oh, my goodness gracious, sakes alive. My hair smells *so* delicious. I can't help but remember those commercials from the 70's, "Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific!" Of course, the person telling me this is not the cute quarterback from 1970's high school heaven, but me. That's OK. I don't need a teenaged football player complicating my life. There are other Tennesseans who went that route recently and infamously, and that sort of thing tends to end in tragedy, and darn it, I am trying to AVOID tragedy, which is why I gave up my beloved Capri Menthol 120's, anyway.

OH! That reminds me. There was a huuuuuuuuuge piece on tonight's evening news about Neyland Stadium. For those of you who don't live in this glorious state of gentle, green, rolling Smoky Mountain foothills, that's the place where the University of Tennessee Volunteers play football every fall. I've been to exactly one home game. Eleven years ago. But it was still a very nice experience.

Anyway, Neyland Stadium is going non-smoking. (I think they have to -- I think Tennessee passed some sort of really stringent anti-smoking law that goes into effect soon.) Neyland Stadium has always been a mecca for smokers -- you could smoke in your seat for years and years, and then there were all kinds of designated smoking areas.

As of today, there were only designated smoking areas outside the arena.

As of next week, if you leave the stadium, you won't be allowed back in.

So if you're a smoker, you are going to have to sit through an entire football game without a cigarette at all.

Oh, my goodness, the WBIR crew interviewed a dozen people or more for this piece. Many smokers were completely blindsided by this decision and were quite distraught. They love their football, and they love their cigarettes, and how can they possibly give up one for the other?

One young, young couple of smokers were sanguine about the development. "There are more non-smokers than smokers," said the young man. "Majority rules."

This is a fellow who obviously never lived as a smoker before the advent of non-smoking areas in restaurants, office buildings, and football stadiums.

But one woman -- honestly, I felt as if I knew her -- one woman said, "I never thought the Tobacco State would go this far. Never!"

I know what she means.

On the other hand -- and honestly, this was what I was going to blog about if I had only blogged earlier today --

-- I find myself... becoming ... slightly ... *repulsed* by smoking.

Not real smoking -- If I run into a cloud of real smoke outside the grocery store, I don't fall apart or retch or attack some unsuspecting smoker and snarl, as so many nonsmokers did at me over the years, "Smoking's bad for you!"

No, I find myself emotionally involved whenever I see someone smoking in a movie or a TV show. I'm torn. I'm fascinated by the mechanics of it. Light the cigarette, hold the cigarette, inhale the smoke, wave the cigarette away, exhale the smoke. As an actor, I am fascinated by the choices they make, whether to just exhale all the smoke out and then speak the dialogue, or to exhale the smoke with each word, which, to me, is the mark of a serious smoker and a much more serious character as a direct result of such an action. It *has* to be a conscious decision, acting-wise. It cannot be that the actors said, "Yes, I'll smoke for this movie, but I won't inhale. I'll just hold the cigarette."

They *do* just hold the cigarettes on the AMC channel's original series "Mad Men." A very few of the actors are actually seen inhaling and exhaling smoke, but they're all standing around holding lit cigarettes.

I was therefore fascinated Friday night, when I saw the 1940 movie "Rebecca." Sir Lawrence Olivier's character Maxim seemed to be bothered by smoke. Repeatedly, characters would ask about smoking, or put out their cigarettes in his presence. This was just fascinating to watch. (Especially juxtaposed against the eventually outcome for Manderley, but I shan't spoil the ending of the movie for any of you who many not have seen it before.) I have no idea whether Olivier himself were a smoker or not, but the sheer volume of etiquette surrounding smoking -- almost 70 years ago --

Aw, now, see? I've gone off on too many tangents. I'll never untangle this snarled mess! Just suffice it to say that I wonder if -- after 22 years of smoking -- I'll ever be "quit" enough not to think about it.

Say, I just remembered. I quit biting my nails for my 23rd birthday. I obsessed about them for an entire year -- oh, my manicure kit was sublime! -- and then I was able to just stop. Both the biting and the obsessing. I hope, I hope that I'll be able to stop obsessing about the quitting smoking thing someday, too.

Really, a pretty good day

2007-09-07T02:47:00.000-04:00

As usual, I needed to keep my hands busy, so I made cards with the latest Club Scrap kit. I love the purple.

I did keep busy, which I think helps, even when you're taking Chantix.

As a result of a beloved old teacher's death, I talked to two old friends whom I hadn't talked to recently. Both of them asked me how I was doing in general, and I was able to share with them that I had stopped smoking. And both of these dear old friends were absolutely thrilled.

That helps, I think -- to get positive affirmation at such a difficult time.

Also, I got lots of praise from my family. I made tacos for dinner tonight. That seems so easy, since El Paso makes taco dinner "kits." But in truth, one has to chop the tomatoes, slice the lettuce, grate the cheese, and put the sour cream, taco sauce, and picante sauce in places that all the guests can enjoy those condiments. It's not just a matter of browning the ground beef and crisping the taco shells after all, y'know.

And we Loftises do love taco night.

All of that aside, I didn't smoke again today. It was actually a pretty good day. I talked to two people who hadn't talked to our theatre teacher in years, and we were all choked up, and I didn't smoke.

That equals a pretty good Chantix day.

Very rough day

2007-09-06T00:21:00.000-04:00

I had some sad news today, and I didn't smoke. In fact, I actually thought a few hours later, "Dang, I didn't get a chance to tell her I quit smoking." And she would've loved it.

A dear old friend of the family, who was also my high school drama coach, died yesterday. I actually hadn't talked to her recently. The last time I heard from her was in an email in 2002 when she was retiring from teaching at the high school. (She went on to teach and direct at the local college in her "retirement.") She wondered if I still had my teaching certificate. She was trying to find a replacement for herself.

There is no replacement for her.

Teachers touch so many lives; it's cliched to say that she influenced hundreds of people through her years of teaching. But -- for me, she was more than a teacher and a director. She was literally a friend of my mother's. I didn't just have to toe the line in class or on the stage -- I was gonna run into Pat at dinner or when my mother was walking all summer long for her health.

When I first heard about this, I was empty. I was speechless. I literally sat for many seconds and couldn't think of anything to say.

Late in the afternoon, I drove half an hour south to buy a newspaper with an article about her. And on the way, I told my daughter the story of how Pat was a power-hungry, controlling megalomaniac who exerted her will over young actors and actresses without mercy, and how I broke her record when I turned out to be the only person in my high school who could sing well enough to be Peter Pan.

At the end of my awful story, Emily asked me, "Why did you go visit her if you didn't like her?"

And I said, "Because she had all the power, and I had to pay homage."

Hours later -- as I sit at my sad little second-hand desk and pound out my blog entry -- I realize, no, it was more than all the power that Pat wielded to keep me running back to her every few years to beg for a favor. It was that -- no matter what -- no matter how big or small -- no matter how long it had been since I had done anything nice for *her* -- if I called Pat and asked her to help me, she always did.

She always did.

She designed the set of the first play I ever directed; she let me use her theatre at the high school for practically nothing; she always helped me design my lighting schemes; and once she let me walk into her years-collected, vast array of a costume closet, and she let me take whatever I wanted, and she let me *wreck* those costumes with alterations.

And she never asked for anything in return. Except once, she emailed me and told me to be nicer to my oldest sister, the difficult one, the one who drives me the craziest, and for that reason alone, I haven't talked to Pat in about five years.

It's not fair.

I always thought I would have more time to figure out what to say to her.

And she's gone.

She would've loved it that I'm not smoking, so I can't break down now and have a cigarette.

(I made the sign that still hangs in the make-up room at the high school theatre. It reads, "Smoke Not, Thou Sinner, Thou!" That sign has hung there since 1983. I started smoking in 1985.)

Gah, I miss her.

Another one bites the dust

2007-09-05T03:36:00.000-04:00

I made it through yet another day without a cigarette.

Can I just say -- can I *please* just say -- how absolutely benign this is all beginning to feel? I'm starting to think I shouldn't blog about it. "Ho hum, didn't smoke for another day, blah dee blah, Chantix rocks." I must sound like a broken record.

But that's the thing: I didn't smoke for another day. It wasn't even terribly difficult. Like most of my days since, oh, the fourth quit day. I just don't think about smoking. When I do think about it, I tell myself, "Move on," and I do. As a result -- I'm not smoking. I don't buy cigarettes. I don't light them. I am not smoking.

And somehow, it all seems utterly pedantic to keep prattling on about how I'm not smoking.

Yesterday, my first dose of Chantix was so late before I remembered it that I actually had nausea for the first time in weeks. And then I totally forgot to take the night time dose.

If I can forget to take the drug -- and I can forget to smoke the cigarette -- doesn't that make me an ... ex-smoker?

I have stress. My children rely on me for their education; there's a tree falling down in the back yard; I had a North American marsupial in my laundry room; my air conditioning broke for the millionth time in the last seven years. Bills have to be paid; dinner has to be cooked. My hair still doesn't trip my zizz wheel.

Stress happens. It happens all the time, to absolutely everyone. It isn't enough to make me want to light a cigarette and un-do all the NOT smoking I've done over the past couple of weeks.

So I'm not sure it's worth mentioning that I made it through another day without a cigarette. Maybe I should start posting every third day. Maybe then it will be more relevant.

But I have to say -- if you're a smoker, and you're researching Chantix... I endorse this drug wholeheartedly. I cannot possibly be the only one responsible for my quitting. It has to be the Chantix.

Southern heat

2007-09-04T02:12:00.000-04:00

It's September, and I live in the South, and my air conditioner is broken.

This is ugly, no matter which way you slice it. Southern girls don't even acknowledge the possibility of sweating.

My husband tells me the rotor is sheered off. Or maybe it's sheared off. I honestly don't understand the difference between those two verbs or what the heck a rotor is; I just know that my air conditioner is not keeping me cool.

And so, in almost unbearable heat and humidity, I know that I didn't smoke.

So the Chantix must still be doing its job.

(Truth be told, I was so hot that I took the first dose of Chantix almost two hours late. I had the nausea for the first ime in weeks. I got through it; I didn't buy any cigarettes; and I have not smoked.)

Viva la difference!

Happy Hollerdays

2007-09-03T01:39:00.000-04:00

I'm just warning you -- if you're squeamish or easily upset by tales that can only come from the boonies, then you should skip this post.

Seriously.

I did not have a lovely Sunday. It was supposed to be perfectly lovely, and I spent most of the day happily making scrapbook pages and stamping and stenciling paper to my heart's content. When I wasn't making stuff out of paper, I made a roast beef dinner. We do love roast beast. The pot roast was so big that I didn't have room in the pot for all our potatoes, so I had to make some mashed potatoes to fill out the order. That beef, with potatoes and green beans, was a lovely dinner.

While I was making it, I realized that the kitchen surely was hot.

Well, of course, that's not entirely unexpected. Lots of burners and ovens running, after all.

But the dining room was hot. And the hall was hot. And come to think of it, every room was hot.

Yep. Air conditioner. On the fritz.

And it's a holiday weekend. Can't call the repair dude 'til Tuesday. Argh.

So after my lovely dinner, I tried to open windows and move box fans around to facilitate the natural cooling of the house as the evening air became cooler and cooler.

Finally -- long after dark, around midnight, when I just couldn't stand the heat any more, I opened the front door to let in even more cool air.

Then I went to the kitchen and cleaned up a bit.

During the time that I was in there, Two Major Things happened.

Major Thing #1. My cat Hector escaped.
I don't know how he did it. I had closed him up in the back of the house. But somehow he got the door to the back hallway open, and he walked right out the front door.

I spent a good bit of time running around and looking for Hector. Yep. Running around the yard in my jammies with a flashlight and calling "kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty!" More fun than I can recommend.

Hector did come back home -- he literally just walked up to me and said hello, so I picked him up and carried him back inside.

So that leads to the other thing that happened while the front door was open. After I brought Hector inside, I took him to his food dish to remind him why he should stay inside, and while I was in the back hallway....

Major Thing #2. A small, young, not fully grown opossum climbed up to the top of my laundry hamper, looked at me solemnly, and promptly disappeared behind the washing machine.
I tried not to scream and jump around like an idiot. Wesley, my husband, has been asleep for hours and needs to get up at 4:00 to go to work. Screaming would accomplish nothing and would just deprive the poor thing of some much-needed sleep.

I can only assume that the opossum came in while the front door was open, and he headed for the cat's food because it smelled the best. (Obviously opossums don't know how great leftover roast beef is, and I'm glad, so don't anyone tell my houseguest the opossum, because I do not want to share.)

Since meeting this uninvited guest, I have Googled "opossum extermination," "opossum removal," and just plain "opossum" in an effort to figure out what to do as the night turns to the wee hours of the morning and I'm still freaking out because there's a 9-inch rat-tailed beast in my laundry room.

And now I feel guilty because I wanted to stomp that baby possum. Because there are actual organizations out there to promote the health and well-being of the only North American marsupial. Turns out opossums don't contract rabies, are very delicate little critters, and actually eat all sorts of things that we humans really don't like -- like mice, rats, and slugs.

Still, I don't want a baby possum living in my back hallway, so if he doesn't leave really soon, we're going to have some issues.

All of this has stressed me out more than I can say. Dead air conditioner -- ow. Missing Hector -- dang it. And visiting opossum -- eek.

If I had a cigarette, I would definitely be smoking it right now.

But I don't have one. There's a convenience store just ten minutes away. I'm not driving there.

I've made it almost two weeks without a cigarette, and I am not going to cave in now just because things are a little weird around here. I shall prevail.

Chantix is a miracle drug. I swear.

And happy Labor Day. I hope yours is smoother and more relaxing than mine might be.

Obsequious

2007-09-02T01:42:00.000-04:00

When, exactly, did the word "obsequious" become negative? It means "marked by a fawning attentiveness." As someone who really loves applause, attention, and anything remotely related to praise, I am trying to understand how "obsequious" could be a bad thing.

Sorry. I was just watching "Miss Congeniality" for a minute while I was flipping channels.

Chantix Day 32, Quit Day 12

To be honest, I think today was one of those slightly rougher days. I was fidgety and distracted all day long. I still engaged in a number of productive tasks to keep my hands busy, but at the end of each tiny job, I wanted to give myself a cigarette for a reward.

I didn't, though. I didn't smoke a cigarette; I didn't buy a pack. And sometimes, at the end of the day, just noting those two accomplishments is enough to make me feel like trying another non-cigaretted day.

A friend of mine -- a very dear friend of mine -- just went to Disney World last weekend with her daughter, and they had a wonderful trip during which, on ONE DAY, they ran around three parks (Disney-MGM Studios, Epcot, and the Magic Kingdom), went swimming in the best Disney resort pool (Stormalong Bay), and finished out their day with an evening at Pleasure Island.

Just six years ago, my dear friend and I would have done the same thing as if we were her daughter's age. In fact, we *did* do exactly that -- just seven years ago. (And five years ago, and three years ago...)

Last November when we were there together, the running about like teenagers was pretty severely limited by my total inability to run without wheezing.

So I was reading my friend's report of her day with her daughter, and practically crying with jealousy and hope for *our* next trip to Walt Disney World, and then I realized -- the next time I go to Disney World with Krisi, I'll be a non-smoker.

Maybe... maybe I won't wheeze as much. Maybe I'll be able to keep ahead of the crowds. Maybe I'll be able to dance all night without having to take smoke breaks!

I hope my friend quits smoking, too. That'll make life a lot easier if we're both non-smokers.

But see, that's part of the thing I wrote about early on in this blog. ALL my best friends smoke. My sister Amy smoked. Krisi smokes. My very dear friend Terri smokes. The people I love the mostest -- all smoke. Well, OK, Amy and I quit. But -- I can't help but hope that Krisi and Terri quit, too. I don't want to pressure them, but I am really gonna be hard pressed to stay quit if I'm hangin' out in the smoking areas with my friends.

Sniffle.

See? I said it was a rough day.

Sunday will be easier. I'm coming up on two weeks without a cigarette, and I have to say -- I am really very hopeful that this is the end for me and smoking. And my sister Amy (who has just sailed away on an Alaskan cruise today) has quit, too, which is a huge motivating factor for me. We quit together! We quit together! And together, we can beat our cravings for cigarettes!!!!

Deep sigh... wistful glance into the future....

All the cool kids

2007-09-01T00:13:00.000-04:00

I've made it another day without smoking. And the strange thing is, it really is getting easier. I don't feel like I'm struggling that hard to get through a day without a cigarette.

On the other hand, in the middle of wanting one, it feels like all I want is to smoke.

I was trying to think of some cool way to say, "Hey, I'm not suffering," and there is no cool way to say that. It's like saying, "I didn't stub my toe today." I think most people make it through their days without stubbing toes or suffering or smoking. So to comment on it -- even though I am clearly very special and wonderful for making it 11 days or so without smoking -- seems inherently uncool.

Tennessee has recently enacted a bunch of laws against smoking. There are the recently increased taxes, to be sure, but there are also new laws against smoking in restaurants. These kinds of laws drive me crazy on a political level.

On the other hand, non-smoking restaurants are some of my newest bestest friends. I have been living in fear of running into a big cloud of cigarette smoke in public, worrying that smelling it would send me into such a tizzy of nostalgic longing, it would compel me to run to the nearest store, buy a big pack of cigarettes, and immediately smoke 8 in a row. Or maybe all at once. I just didn't know what would happen if I smelled cigarette smoke.

Today -- after literally scrubbing certain kitchen appliances for hours in order to remove caked on grease and grime -- I decided I didn't want to cook dinner. (OK, really, I never want to cook dinner, but frugality forces me to do so most of the time.) So I called in an order at a restaurant in a town 20 minutes away, and then I drove there to pick it up. This is what you do when you live in the boonies. There is no such thing as "delivery."

So I drove the 20 minutes and walked inside... and the first thing I noticed was a sign that read, "This establishment will be non-smoking as of October 1st."

On the left side of the restaurant, which has been the smoking area since the mid-1990's, only a smattering of tables held customers. On the non-smoking side of the restaurant, every table was full.

And at a table right behind me, there was a cigarette in an ashtray at a completely empty table, burning merrily away.

Totally unavoidable lungs-fuls of delicious, delectable, unfettered, unattached, unattended and presumably unowned tobacco smoke.

If it hadn't been a brown-filtered cigarette of some non-mentholated sort, I might have been tempted to steal it and run away.

Nah, that's not true. I'll be honest; I had a tingle up and down my spine and part of me thrilled and wondered how I would react to this temptation. But -- it didn't do much of anything to me. I didn't long for a cigarette. I wasn't disgusted by the smoke. It was actually kind of a letdown to realize that -- only 11 or so days into this quitting thing -- I seem to have no emotional reaction to live cigarette smoke.

Dang, y'all, if cigarettes were an ex-boyfriend, I would at least have a mild temper tantrum, wouldn't I?

So -- y'know, whatev. Let's see what Day 111 brings, shall we?

Hard time keeping up

2007-08-31T01:12:00.001-04:00

Chantix Day 30; Quit Day 10

I keep making cards to keep my hands busy. My husband finds this very curious. He comes home from work and finds that half the living room is taken up with my papercrafting supplies, and I shrug and tell him, "Would you like to buy me a pack of cigarettes?"

Truthfully, I'm doing pretty well. No Chantix nausea; continuing vivid dreams that I can live with.

Yesterday Wesley helped to distract me by taking me to a motorcycle dealership.

Wesley (my husband of 20+ years) loves motorcycles. He used to have one, but he sold it a few years ago. I think I always knew that someday he would buy another motorcycle. He's so cute about motorcycles. I mean, it's like watching a little boy's enthusiasm whenever Wesley sees a Triumph.

So we went to a motorcycle dealer and Wesley drooled over the Triumphs that he says he won't buy for another ten years. (He's gonna retire in about ten years, at which point he'll want a motorcycle.) (So he says.)

I was just standing there thinking, "I have already saved a month's payment on this motorcycle... just from not smoking for ten days...."

But I am a selfish, spoiled brat, because I don't want to spend my savings on a motorcycle. I want to spend my savings on *me*.

So after the motorcycle dealership, I took me and Wesley and our son to a hamburger place that costs 'way more than burgers should cost. But OMG, they are divine burgers. I enjoyed that immensely and thanked myself the entire time for not buying cigarettes instead of those burgers!

Then my parrot Cosmo bit the daylights out of me. Long story. I cried and wished I had a cigarette to console me.

The thing is -- I didn't buy cigarettes. I didn't smoke. And I woke up and made it all the way through Thursday without buying cigarettes and smoking, even though I thought about it a lot.

I am not hanging out with Get Quit the way I should -- but somehow I'm making it through despite myself. I just tell myself "no," and I move on. I eat a sugar-free mint; I make a card; I distract myself in one way or another, I keep taking Chantix; And I Haven't Smoked In More Than Ten Days.

That's crazy.

And it's wonderful.

I think I might be a non-smoker in another couple of months.

Wouldn't that be cool?

I think a change, a change would do me good

2007-08-28T16:39:00.000-04:00

I woke up this morning with a Sheryl Crow song running through my head.

First of all, I dreamt that I was smoking, and being one of those vivid Chantix dreams, I became very upset. I couldn't remember buying cigarettes; I couldn't remember lighting a cigarette, but there I was in the dream, puffing away.

Upon waking and realizing it was just a dream, I determined that I have had too wimpy an attitude about quitting.

I've now made it 8 entire days without a cigarette. If I fall off the wagon now, I have to do these 8 days all over again. That's about 200 hours out of my life. And they haven't been completely rosy, but they haven't been completely horrid, either. Do I really want to waste these first 8 days for nothing?

So I need to stop thinking such weak, longing thoughts about cigarettes. I just gotta. I don't want to vilify them or the people who still smoke them -- but I can't keep telling myself it's OK for *me* to smoke just because tobacco is legal. That doesn't solve anything.

Thank goodness for Maggie's blog and her blissful Linky Loos. In particular, this morning I found the ingredients list especially inspiring. *Formaldehyde*. For heaven's sake. Formaldehyde! Yeah, I knew it was there, in a vague, "I'm a smoker and I don't care cuz I luvs me my cigarettes" kind of way. But now I'm forcing myself to really consider that. Formaldehyde. Like the stuff that they preserve dead things in before you have to dissect those dead things in biology class. And man, I hated dissecting. It smelled so much like -- formaldehyde!

Can't believe I've been smoking formaldehyde for 22 years.

Definitely time for a change.

After deciding to change my attitude, I had to go back to see the doctor, which was nice. My blood pressure is down, but not down far enough for the doctor's comfort. So I have to take some bp drugs and go back in another 3 months. Hmmmm.

And then I came home and started making cards to keep my hands busy. Well, I had to do something! I've been washing the same windows for days. A change did me good!

Still getting along

2007-08-28T00:30:00.000-04:00

Eight days -- eight days without a cigarette. I still can't believe it. Every day I think I'm about to cave in and smoke, and every night I look back at the day and realize that I haven't fallen off the wagon.

I'm sorry, but it must be said: This Chantix stuff is *miraculous*. I never could have made it this far on my own.

It's official, you know -- I haven't gone this long without a cigarette since January/February of 1988. That was my most successful attempt at quitting -- I made it about a month before I had a cigarette. Next to that, I made it four days in early 1997. Four. DAYS.

I am pitiful.

I am also incredibly lucky that someone decided to invent Chantix!

Thanks to everyone for all your support. I'm amazed and still struggling -- I thought today was particularly rough, with lots of moments thinking, "MAN, I want a cigarette!" -- but I got through it. I don't know how, but I'm glad.

I have to go to the doctor's office in the morning -- I hope she says my blood pressure is down! Wish me luck!

Got through another day

2007-08-27T01:33:00.000-04:00

Chantix Day 26; Quit Day 6

I made it through another day. I have to be honest and confess that I really wanted to smoke today. I just miss it. I can't explain it. I know, on the logical and reasonable side of my brain, that I have made it through the hardest part in terms of nicotine withdrawal.

On the other hand, I just really want a cigarette.

Part of me longs to actually try one to see if it is as repulsive as some of those later cigarettes were. I mean, in the Chantix scheme of things, some of those last cigarettes just tasted like mud.

But that was, like, only for the last couple of days before I quit. What if... I mean... I mean, for 22 years, cigarettes were heaven on earth. What if I smoked a cigarette, and it tasted great? Would I kick myself? Oh, heck, yeah, I would! I loved smoking. Why did I give this up? I'm crazy.

I'm depriving myself of something I loved!

What is wrong with me?

On the other hand, I look at the bucks racking up on the QuitMeter. At ten dollars a day (or thereabouts), I've already saved $60 easily by not smoking in the last week.

That's cool.

Ten dollars a day. That's *cool*.

But I haven't seen that ten dollars a day yet. Somehow I keep spending it on ... chips and chocolate and lamb chops.

(OK, the lamb chops were totally worth it, as were the marinated asparagus. OMG. I need to share that recipe. The asparagus rocked!)

I do think I'm eating less. That's strange for me. I am not drinking as much; I'm not eating as much; I'm not smoking at all. ... Excuse me, but what is my reason for living?!?!

Seriously, I'll calm down. Or not. Whatever. But tomorrow is my one-week anniversary without smoking, and honestly, right now, what I really want to do to celebrate is... have a cigarette.

Still alive!

2007-08-25T14:54:00.000-04:00

Righty-o. If you've never had an abscessed tooth, let me tell you right now, I would rather have to give birth while passing a kidney stone than go through that again. It is by far the worst pain I've ever experienced. And I've experienced all three kinds of pain. So I feel like an expert of the worst kind.

The nights were the hardest, because I desperately wanted to sleep. But the pain kept me awake. That's. Serious. Pain.

While breathing and trying to focus on not being in pain sometime Thursday night, I thought to myself, "I haven't even thought about smoking. If I make it through this abscess, I think I might actually be an ex-smoker."

Of course, Thursday was the day that a strange dentist I don't even know prescribed antibiotics for me. Thank heaven for antibiotics. I had to wait just about 24 hours to feel any kind of let-up in the infection, but once it started, oh, it felt so good!

I slept through last night for the first time since Tuesday night, and that also felt good. Now I'm up and walking around and eating and stuff.

And I have to tell you, now that I feel almost normal --

-- I would really like to have a cigarette.

But I'm aware that the nicotine is now officially out of my system, so really what I want is something to do with my hands. I'm baffled and mystified by this need to do something with my hands. I'm constantly asking, "What do non-smokers DO all the time? Do they just sit still and do nothing? How do they do NOTHING???"

I may have to take up crocheting or knitting or something. Because having nothing to do is kinda driving me crazy.

Irony bites

2007-08-23T16:46:00.000-04:00

In searching for good reasons to quit smoking -- y'know, things that don't fall under the category of "because nonsmokers are such wet blankets that I really want to be just like 'em" -- one of the very good reasons to quit was because smoking is bad for your teeth.

I know this to be true because my dentist has told me so a number of times over the last twenty years. "Smoking makes it worse," he says, as he tsk's over my teeth.

Genetics and a poor location for my formative years have combined to give me a really bad set of teeth, anyway. We didn't have fluoride in the city water in the town where we lived when I was a baby. And I didn't have the best genes for strong teeth. So if you add in smoking, what you get is a pretty darned big honkin' mess.

Good thing I quit smoking, huh?

I quit on Monday. Late Tuesday, I bit down on the first bite of my dinner and thought, "Oh, that can't be good."

Wednesday night, I literally couldn't sleep from the pain in my tooth. This must be abscessing.

Now it's late Thursday afternoon. I managed to get to sleep by forcing myself to drink a shot of vodka straight up. Choked, sputtered, went to sleep, thank heaven.

I finally got hold of someone in my dentist's office, and the rotten son of a b**** is away at a conference this weekend. They can't fit me in until next Thursday.

That is impossible. I can't live that long like this.

Now, I haven't spent much time awake today, but I have to say that smoking isn't the first thing on my mind. Except in an ironic vein. I quit smoking. Quitting is supposed to be good for my teeth. Now I have an abscess. Irony bites.

Acceptance is the first step

2007-08-22T23:11:00.000-04:00

I Am Iron Woman.

Today was really rough. If I had to grade Wednesday on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being the least stressful and 10 being the most stressful, then I would have to give today an 8.99. (I'm guessing that in order for it to be a 10, I would have to either kill someone or live through a loved one's death. Those are the only more-stressful things I can imagine. "Moving" would be a 9.8, of course. That's the scale I'm going with.)

(And I hope you understand what I'm talking about.)

Let's see. Today I had writer's block with a deadline, and my daughter and I had a huuuuuge fight and I stomped out of the house and drove around -- not getting out of the car, because I didn't even wear shoes when I stomped out of the house -- and I still didn't buy cigarettes or smoke. I cried. I ranted. I raved. But I didn't smoke.

I watched a movie that's really a little too emotional for someone in my condition to watch. ("Catch & Release," in case you're wondering, and it's not as bad as the reviews might have led me to believe; in fact, I rather liked it.)

I fixed dinner, although, honestly, I hate fixing dinner and desperately wish a miracle would happen to keep me from fixing dinner all the time. (It's been 20 years. I'm tired of fixing dinner. And I would feel badly about that, but all my friends tell me they feel the same way, which is why so many of them are buying those Bertolli frozen things. It's dinner without all the fixing.)

And then, to top off the whole fabulous day, I had a conference call. About stressful stuff. And I had a bad connection to that conference call about stressful things, and I got kicked out of it in the middle of the call, and I don't know why.

Then my favorite contestant got kicked off of "Top Chef."

I still haven't bought any cigarettes, nor have I smoked any, but OMG, I so want to smoke. I so want to.

Did I mention I have a tooth that hurts?

Shoot me now.

Can I sleep through Thursday? Please?

I made it another day. I didn't buy any cigarettes. I didn't drive off a mountain. I am going to make it through tonight and on to Thursday. I am.

Oh, and the Elvis-tribute Reese's cups are fabulous. Reese's cups with banana flavoring added in. I'm not kidding, those things are wonderful. I had absolutely no idea that Elvis was onto something with the disgusting-sounding fried-peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches. Add in Reese's and chocolate, and it's almost enough to make up for the total lack of tobacco in my life!

Is it getting easier?

2007-08-22T13:32:00.000-04:00

I can't tell if it's getting easier.

I definitely had a less-bitter-tasting mouth again this morning. That's weird. My nose is stopped up, though. I can't tell if I'm coughing less.

The funky little faux-cigarettes do come in handy when I'm writing. I have to write a newsletter this afternoon, so I'll probably chew them all down to little toothpicks.

I wrote to a friend of mine and asked him if he had ever smoked or quit smoking, and did he have any encouragement? He wrote back, "I don't give up my vices. I vote Republican." Something about that just absolutely cracked me up.

Off to write a newsletter -- and not smoke --

Non-Smoker Crafts

2007-08-22T00:23:00.001-04:00

I have been working on this crazy little project for days. I didn't work on it very hard at first, but since Monday, I've put a lot of time and love into it -- it's my faux-cigarette box. I think you might call it a security blanket. Or a binkie. Whatever you prefer.

I made it with Club Scrap's incomparable papercrafting supplies. I love Club Scrap stuff. I love it all. And now that I'm not smoking, my paper stash is going to smell wonderful always.

Anyway, this is made with the Bistro kit, which came in shades of green, hot pink, orange, and yellow-gold, and featured amazing pencil art. It's very breezy and girlie, which appeals to my innocent side.

After I slaved over the faux-cigarettes (each lovingly snipped from bamboo skewers, painted, inked, and sealed with acrylic sealer), I wrote my Motivations on each of them. Here they are, the reasons I'm trying to quit:
- Feel Better
- Save Money
- Run Anywhere
- Taste More
- Yell Louder (this one made my kids crack up)
- Smell Cleaner
- Healthier Teeth
- Savor Desserts
- Walk Farther
- More Vacations
- Enjoy More
- Climb Higher

Now when I have a craving, I reach for the box, grab a stick, and go cross-eyed reading it while I chew on it.

Very handy. I hardly chanted at all tonight.

I do think -- well, honestly, part of me is grumpy about all this. I want to smoke. I'm not going to lie; I would really love a cigarette. But it's not killing me. And I haven't bought any cigarettes. And I haven't cried. I feel a little annoyed, then I distract myself, and the feeling goes away.

Onward and upward!

Whoa.

2007-08-21T13:23:00.000-04:00

Seriously. I woke up this morning and my mouth tasted better. That quickly? I had no idea!

I told Amy last night that right now, my hardest time is right after meals. I don't know what non-smokers do after they eat. To me, finishing the food was a great time to celebrate my successful masticating of life-sustaining nutrients. Have a cigarette! Woo hoo! Party time! I've eaten something, let's smoke!

Last night I clung to my dinnerplate and didn't know what to do. If I took the plate to the sink as usual, then I would feel like it's time to smoke. Same thing this morning with breakfast. Here's my coffee. Here's my hard-boiled egg saucer. Where's my...?

Nope. Didn't smoke. Didn't go out and buy cigarettes.

Having some stress in the car insurance department -- my daughter has her driver's license now and is going to start costing a fortune. I remember when I cost my mother a fortune. I hope I make it through the next few days.

12:50 a.m.!!!!

2007-08-21T00:54:00.000-04:00

And I still haven't smoked! I AM IRON WOMAN!!!!!!

OK, not really *iron* woman. But I might be, I dunno, acrylic-lined recycled aluminum woman.

I have to thank Amy for helping me with my Quit Meter. It wasn't wrapping until Amy helped. She's the bomb! I was going to ask her how to fix that, and then my phone rang and she said, "Let me help you with your Quit Meter..." She totally read my mind! How does she *do* that?

Oh, right, *she* is Iron Woman. OK, I'll try not to forget.

Before I go on, I have to point out that I didn't fill out my QuitMeter totally honestly. I know that I reported just a few days ago that my brand of cigarettes now cost $5.25 per pack -- and they do -- NOW -- now that the taxes have been raised. I think to be honest, I should reflect a price closer to normal, before taxes went up. Because let's face it, I smoked for years at the lower tax bracket. Now I'm quitting with higher taxes; I don't think it's fair to say I'm saving all that much more.

OK -- maybe not the most logical thought process in the world, but hey, I quit smoking today. Cut me some slack!

So, I have not had a cigarette since I got up today, and I am still doing really pretty well. When I have a craving, I breathe and I chant positive things at myself. Mostly all I can remember that's positive is, "I smell good." After a while, I might throw in "I'm saving money" and "I'm really NOT smoking." I think I'm going to make it to bed tonight without having had a cigarette all day.

This evening I had to run to the store for some milk. I got the milk, put it on the counter, and when the cashier told me how much I owed, I carefully counted up the money. He said thank you, and I said thank you, and I carefully put my wallet in my purse and started to walk out, which, of course, is when the cashier called, "Don't forget your milk!"

I turned around, embarrassed, shaking my head, and I said to no one in particular, "Yeah... I just quit smoking today..."

And the guy who had been in line behind me absolutely *roared* with laughter. Slapped his knees and guffawed. Even the cashier snorted a little bit in my direction.

I made it through -- well, almost. I guess I'll know I *really* made it through the first day if I wake up tomorrow and my hands still smell great.

Woo hoo!!!!

Quit Date -- today!

2007-08-20T17:42:00.000-04:00

So far, so good! Well, actually, I have to admit that it's not *too* bad. The first few hours were a breeze. Wesley and I drove to Knoxville to run some errands, and that helped to keep me occupied right up until we decided to stop for a mid-afternoon snack at a perfectly lovely bistro.

It was a non-smoking establishment, the kind of place I would have complained about if I were still smoking, and as soon as we placed an order for appetizers...

Oh, I wanted a cigarette.

The waitress brought icy-cold water to the table and I tried to drink it, but it was so cold that I just got a headache instead. So there I was, craving a cigarette, nursing my cold head, and starting to flip out, when she brought flatbread and olive oil.

So I ate my way through the craving. Yay, food!

It was a delish place. Table Fifteen -- highly, highly recommend it. It's expensive, though. So save up your pennies before ya go.

Anyway, when we finished and left the bistro, I had another huuuuuuuge craving. I sat there and chanted, "I smell good, I smell good, I smell good, I smell good," until that didn't work any more, and then I chanted, "I'm saving money, I'm saving money, I'm saving money," until the craving went away.

I've been home for about half an hour, and I still smell good, and I'm still saving money.

I might make it! I really think I might!!! This is SO MUCH BETTER than Day 8 was!!!!!!!

I'm so grateful to those bloggers who went before me -- Tasina, Maggie, everyone -- you guys rock.

And of course, my sister Amy rocks. Eleven and a half days without a cigarette *or* Chantix! She Is Iron Woman!

Chantix Day 19, Quit Day -1

2007-08-20T02:24:00.000-04:00

All righty -- let's try this again.

I'm quitting tomorrow. Monday, August 20th. That's my drop-dead Quit Date, and I feel much more prepared to face it this time around.

For one thing, I have cut back on smoking so much that I smoked less than a third of a pack of cigarettes today. And the last cigarette? Just twenty minutes ago? Tasted like crud with a fine layer of ick frosting on top. Now, this is what I'm talkin' about!

I have made lists of things to do instead of smoking tomorrow if I should have a craving. The funny thing is -- I smoke in the car. I'm a huuuuge car smoker. Yes, even though my beloved Prius doesn't have an ashtray or a lighter, I just smoke, smoke, smoke, and smoke some more every time I'm in the car.

Usually.

For the last three days, I haven't smoked in my car. And it's not like I'm keeping myself from it. I took my cigarettes and lighter with me, same as usual, but I just totally forgot to smoke while driving all over town. It didn't matter where I was going or what I was thinking -- I just plain forgot to smoke. Friday night, when I realized, "Hey, I haven't smoked in the car," I could have lit up then -- but I didn't. I just drove through the thought without lighting up.

Weird!

And cool. I have to admit, yes, I find it cool.

I was really nervous about Monday until sometime this evening when I realized, "No, I really am ready to try quitting again. I have already cut down this much. I already don't smoke in the car. I really do think I can do this."

So the test is tomorrow. I don't know if I'll be blogging a lot about it, but I think I'm actually looking forward to quitting. Again. I mean, for the first time. I mean -- for the first time, I'm looking forward to quitting again. Does that make more sense? OK! Let's do this!

G'bye, Capri Menthol 120's! Hello, money!

Awwww... toot toot?

2007-08-18T21:37:00.000-04:00

I just got a note from my eagle-eyed sister who was reading the Wikipedia definition for Chantix and discovered to her surprise that one of the "common side effects" listed there is... well... um... ahem -- flatulence.

That's. A. Gas.

ROFL! Sorry, no, I'm trying to keep a straight face. It's really funny. I don't remember reading that on the package insert or online before I started taking Chantix! But I, of all people, know that I am incredibly obtuse when I wanna be. Maybe I just ignored all the potentially embarrassing or marginally impolite side effects I might encounter, because, y'know, Southern girls just don't acknowledge certain unpleasant parts of life.

We don't.

We just don't. Southern girls don't spit, burp, cramp, vomit -- we don't even sweat. I will never forget hearing a lady in my mother's living room whispering embarrassedly that it was so hot, she *glowed*, all the while delicately tapping her sweaty forehead with a tissue.

I mean, basically the old gal was apologizing because she had the complete gall to sweat in the summer. In GEORGIA! Where It's HOT, Dang It!!!!

So -- having come from that sort of background, maybe you'll understand why I was amused and surprised to hear that a drug I'm taking might be causing me to behave -- entirely against my control -- in a less than perfectly ladylike manner.

Ahem!

I'm not.

Honestly, though, immediately on the heels of my denial, I have to confess that my next thought was -- perhaps if I had been thusly afflicted, it would have been the cure to the nausea from which I did suffer.

In any case, I haven't felt nauseated in a few days, which is nice. I haven't quit smoking yet. I thought Amy's comments on that last post were awfully nice, and yes, there is a bit of dread about the actually quitting. But as I continue to smoke less and less, I'm just going to keep looking at August 20th as a good date to quit, and I'll aim for that.

Without burping.

Or sweating.

Or anything-else-ing.

I don't know what to write...

2007-08-18T01:47:00.000-04:00

I know writer's block happens. It's not really writer's block tonight. It's fear.

I'm scared. I'm afraid to think what tomorrow might be. I'm scared to face what it might not be. I'm just not sure, and I'm trying to hedge my bets.

On the one hand -- I haven't had the Chantix nausea for a few days. And -- I honestly have been smoking less and less, and I get less out of it when I do smoke. For those reasons, I wonder if Saturday is the day I'm gonna quit.

I feel so much more ready to quit than I felt on the 8th of August.

On the other hand... Well, I have tried and failed brilliantly before.

Amy and I talk about it every single time we talk, which is usually twice a day. (Today we only spoke once, but that's a rare occurrence.) She's still doing really well on the patch and hasn't broken down and smoked yet in more than a week. And she's had at least two really wretched days at work. If *I* had had her days, I would've broken down and smoked. But Amy's being really wonderful and strong and logical.

Me? I'm an emotional wreck. I always have been.

I almost quit today. Almost. I was awake, had breakfast, drove around town, and went back home before I had my first cigarette. The whole time, I had cigarettes available to smoke -- I just didn't want them and when I had fleeting thoughts of, "I could have a cigarette now," I just ignored them and went on. I had been going about in the world for two and a half *hours* before I had a cigarette. And it tasted an awful lot like mud.

So... why did I have that cigarette? Or the next one, which I had sometime after lunch?

I don't know. Habit. I guess.

Part of me is listing ways to get through cravings -- brush my teeth, drink water, breathe, distract myself, do crunches, walk around the yard -- and part of me is listing reminders of why I want to quit smoking. Sometimes those reminders stop after one: "Save Money." Sometimes I'm actually lucid enough to think, "Feel Better. Walk Farther. Taste More Desserts. Smell Sweeter."

Let's face it, even though I haven't totally quit yet, I'm doing so much better than I ever thought possible. I need to count my blessings and get on with the quitting! Amy's gonna fly home and whomp me upside the head if I don't get my rear in gear!

And... even though I will miss smoking, and I will definitely miss all those lovely friends I've met in the smoking areas... I really *do* need to do this. I do. I'll save a ton of money and have so much more fun than the tax collectors ever would. All I have to do is stop buying cigarettes and smoking them.

Maybe Saturday.

Maybe.

We'll see.

The end in sight?

2007-08-16T01:16:00.000-04:00

No nausea today, yay! That was a relief. I do feel much sleepier in the afternoons than usual.

I've forgotten to write about the vivid Chantix dreams. I don't know why I keep forgetting; I guess it's because they're not traumatic or deeply disturbing dreams. They're just really vivid. I sometimes can't figure out if I dreamed it or if it was real. There was one dream in particular that confused me, because I thought I put up all the clean dishes and reloaded the dishwasher with nothing but glasses. But I didn't.

C'mon, that's just weird.

I'm just going along right now, aware that my quit date is coming up, and thinking that I might quit before then. I'm not sure. Goodness knows I'm smoking far less than I used to, and I do put the cigarettes out more quickly.

I think Amy is getting anxious for me to quit and join her in the realm of the ex-smoking. She's doing *so* well!!!

I'm just a big scaredy-cat because I've tried before and failed. Will it work this time? Can I get through those weak moments?

Gosh, I hope so. There are so many better things to spend my money on. Like more glasses to fill up the dishwasher!

Day 14, not quit yet

2007-08-15T00:34:00.000-04:00

OK, let's be honest: I've been taking Chantix for two weeks now. And as it continues to build up in my blood stream, I can so see a difference. It's not ... *easy*. But it's *different*. And it gives me hope.

But I haven't stopped smoking yet.

But, OMG, today was another good day. I hardly smoked at all, and I didn't have the nausea. YAY!

For those of you who have a very negative image of smoking, well, all I can say is, I'm not entirely aligned with your way of thinking.

I don't hate smoking. I don't hate cigarettes. I don't hate myself for smoking. In point of fact -- I think it might have behooved the scientific society to work on making tobacco safe and healthy instead of just making smokers feel like vilified third-class citizens. But that's not what they worked on -- they just worked on the peer pressure against smokers.

Well, gosh, that was one option. Okie dokie. WhatEV.

So... yeah. If you want to beat me up for my "bad" attitude, OK. But you gotta know -- eventually I'm just going to delete your comments.

In any case, I smoked less today, and I *wanted* to smoke less today, and that was entirely Chantix and not me. And furthermore! The nearest store that stocks my cigarettes is also going to stop ordering the Capri Menthol 120's. Which is just going to keep helping to make this quitting thing easier and easier.

Did you see the news item that states in which tax has been raised horribly... are experiencing more people quitting smoking? Tennessee raised the tax by 42 cents this summer -- so I'm sure we're one of the states in which smoking is decreasing.

That's both weird -- and encouraging. I'm scared to pieces of being around people who smoke. Somehow I just know that if I smell the cigarette smoke, I'm going to have a craving.

That makes me sad on some level.........

In the meantime, my brilliant sister made it through Day 6 on the nicotine patch -- *and* she forgot to change the patch before she went to work, which made for about four hours of sincere worry on my part. But she made it through the added stress!!!!! Amy rocks!!!!!!!!!

I look forward to joining her on the ex-smoking bandwagon, and still being nice to all my lovely friends who do still smoke!

Just another manic Monday

2007-08-14T01:41:00.000-04:00

How long have I been on Chantix now? Almost two weeks. I only have one day of pills left in the second package. Daaaaaang. I'm beginning to get used to the stuff.

Actually... OK, I'm going to be honest. I know my fabulous sister Amy reads the blog, so Amy -- don't beat me up, OK? (Amy is SUCH A GODDESS OF SELF-CONTROL!!!!!!!!! She still hasn't smoked -- it's been FIVE DAYS!!!! I want to be like her if I ever grow up.)

OK. Today was rough. And I haven't even quit yet. I've got a whole week to get ready to quit. But oh, if there are lots of days like today, I am not looking forward to that August 20th Quit Date.

I wanted cigarettes today. I'm still hardly smoking anything compared to two weeks ago, but ... I know I've smoked almost a pack today. And that was with me holding myself back from lighting up every time I wanted to smoke. I'm sitting here, right now, looking at my dwindling pack of cigarettes and thinking, "I surely would like to have one of those right now."

At the very same time, today was one of the really badly nauseated days. I took my pill this morning on a totally full stomach, and I still got whomped upside the head [<-- that's an authentic Tennessee expression] with the nausea. I think I slept more than I was awake today, just in an effort to get away from the nausea. At one point, I was really scared I was going to.... y'know... worship the porcelain god. [I'm Southern. We use euphemisms for unpleasant things.]

There is this part of me -- this juvenile, immature, stubborn, wrong part of me -- that says, "I'm a grown-up! Tobacco is legal! I Can, Too, Smoke!!!!"

I have heard from that voice before. That's the voice that has ruined me every time I've tried to quit. I've got to stop listening to that stupid, whiny, petty little voice in my head.

When I have saved up my cigarette money, I'm going to take a cruise to the Bahamas. I need to apply for a passport, but I've decided that is what I'm doing with my cigarette money. Anyone who wants to come with -- well, just hollah.

[NOTE: I bought a single pack of cigarettes today for the first time in ages. I mean, I have bought singles over the last week or so, but with gum or Diet Dr. Peppers or whatever. So I didn't know EXACTLY how much my cigarettes cost. I was pleasantly deluded that way for ... years. So. It turns out. My cigarettes. Capri Menthol 120's. Cost. FIVE DOLLARS AND TWENTY-FIVE CENTS PER PACK!!!!!! I am so not making that up. And I am, of course, totally horrified. And simultaneously overjoyed. Because, man, I am going to save a fortune when I quit!]

[Can you tell I'm a little manic by all my yelling and exclamation points? I apologize. Rough day. Honest.]

Blech!

2007-08-12T12:31:00.000-04:00

Guess what! I was awake for an hour before I even wanted a cigarette, and then when I lit it -- ewwwww! Tasted like mud. Blech! ... And... YAY!!!!

Weekends are wild

2007-08-11T23:18:00.000-04:00

I'm still cutting down on smoking, but I haven't felt like it much lately. Those fleeting feelings of "this is more trouble than it's worth" that I felt on the second or third day of low-dose Chantix? Gone. Wish they would come back to visit.

On the other hand, I do find that I can go much longer in between cigarettes than I used to. My fabulous brother-in-law is in town, and this afternoon we all went out to lunch. I had to ride in a non-smoking car for fifteen minutes to a non-smoking restaurant where we had to sit there and eat, not smoking, for something like an hour, and then there was another fifteen-minute non-smoking ride back home.

Now, a couple of weeks ago, I probably would have stood outside in the 100-degree parking lot behind the restaurant and smoked a cigarette after lunch before getting back into the non-smoking rental car. But today? I just zipped along, almost like a non-smoker, and when I got home and got comfortable, it was still about fifteen or twenty minutes before I thought, "Hey, I want a cigarette."

That's progress, man!

I am noticing how automatically I reach for cigarettes without thinking about it. It reminds me of a man who quit smoking back in the 80's. He said he almost tore the pockets off his shirts reaching for his cigarettes without thinking about it.

I don't know how anyone ever quit smoking cold turkey. Seriously. I don't know how they did it, but they have my eternal awe.

And in other news, my smart sister Amy is still going strong on her quest to quit. YAY, AMY!!!!!!! You Are Iron Woman!!!!!!

She has my eternal awe, too!

Gonna go bake a coconut cake now..... Well, really, it's a white cake. It'll be coconut after it has been embellished somewhat.

For anyone who's curious, here's my family coconut cake recipe. It's killer.

Coconut Cake

Ingredients:
- 1 box white cake mix
(eggs, water, oil, as directed)
- 1 cup milk
- 1 cup sugar
- Large container Cool Whip topping
- Angel sweetened flake coconut

Directions:
- Bake one box of white cake mix, as directed, for the 13x9 pan directions.
- After you get it out of the oven, mix together one cup milk and one cup sugar. Heat over low to a slow boil while stirring.
- Poke holes all over the cake; pour milk & sugar mixture slowly and evenly all over the cake, allowing it to drip into the holes.
- Let the cake cool completely.
- When it's utterly cool to the touch (on top and on the bottom of the pan), spread a large container of Cool Whip all over the cake.
- Add Angel sweetened flake coconut all over the Cool Whip. Actually, you should use a whole package of the flake coconut, and pressed it into the Cool Whip so that it's *really* saturated with coconut.
- Cover and refrigerate overnight.
- In between servings, keep it covered and in the fridge. It'll spoil if you leave it out of the fridge. And trust me, spoiled coconut cake has been known to make grown men cry.

I know it sounds too simple to be good -- but it's just deadly. Cross my heart and hope to die. Oh, wait. I'm quitting smoking in the hopes of *not* dying. OK -- cross my heart and hope to quit smoking!

new latest possible last chance drop dead quit date

2007-08-10T01:51:00.000-04:00

I am so lovin' Maggie's way of putting things! This post's header comes to you compliments of Maggie, my idol.

I was going to post a couple more thoughts tonight before crashing, anyway, and this just makes it more fun.

First of all, I am not gettin' the GetQuit emails on a regular basis. I wonder if that's because so many people are getting the Chantix prescription and signing up for GetQuit? And I wish them all luck! Whoever they are! But I'm missing my regular notes from GetQuit. I forget to check the website for *hours* if I don't get the email.

That glitch sort of messed with my last Quit Date -- the GetQuit email told me to throw out my ashtrays and clean up my house, which I had already read about on the day before. I never did get any supportive info for the actual Quit Date. And I didn't notice that until I had already caved in and had a cigarette.

Oh, well, live and learn! I'm sure it'll be better next time around. I'll set alarms for myself on my cell phone -- just to remember to check the website in case I don't get a daily email.

Secondly, I did go ahead and choose another Quit Date -- the "new latest possible last chance drop dead quit date," as Maggie says. August 20th. I love that when I did check in today, the website asked me two questions first; the usual "are you taking your Chantix?" and the more unusual, "Did you quit smoking?" I was able to honestly answer, and they prompted me to set a new Quit Date. So that's what I did.

I can do it! I hope I can. I just keep hearing from more and more friends who know someone who quit with Chantix. An old classmate of mine (who is a pharmacist) emailed me tonight to say that she's hearing incredible things about Chantix and has in fact urged her husband to try it as a result.

Too cool!

Day 9 on Chantix

2007-08-10T00:24:00.000-04:00

I'm really sorry I didn't post earlier today -- I meant to, but somehow I didn't.

Oh! I remember what happened. I had the nausea after this morning's pill. As I was telling my sister Amy, I think I know when to expect the ickiness now. About a day and a half after the dosage increases, the nausea increases. It's OK -- I just lie on the couch until it passes.

I do feel a little bit scummy about not making it through Wednesday without a cigarette. On the other hand, the moment I got a pack of cigarettes and could control my own intake,... my desire tapered off. I've not smoked half a pack today. Seriously! And sometimes I totally forget that I'm not smoking. OK, yeah, I was nauseated for a few hours and that may have helped. But after dinner? I wasn't nauseated, and I wasn't smoking. Can ya explain that??? Not without Chantix, you can't!

My sister is doing faaaaaaaaabulously on the patch!!! She has made it 22 hours without a cigarette -- go, Amy!!!! She told me, "I don't want to have a cigarette after all this time because if I do, I'll just have to quit again, and then I'll just have to go through the first 22 hours again, and I Don't Want To Repeat THAT."

Smart girl!!!!!!

Amy always was smarter than I. Remind me to smack her -- as soon as we've saved up our cigarette money for a fabulous cruise to some paradise. I'll smack her really hard, and then we can have a fruity adult beverage and look at the sunset without being interrupted by my hacking smoker's cough.

Tee hee!

Still looking forward to quitting; still wondering if I can be as good as others before me! And *still* taking my Chantix, even though sometimes it makes me sick!

Didn't make it

2007-08-09T00:06:00.000-04:00

Well. I made it 20 hours and ten minutes if you include sleep hours.

I made it 11 hours and forty minutes if you just count the waking hours.

My kids are shocked and amazed I made it this long -- they've seen other cessation methods come and go, after all. And they read some of the Chantix blogs and seem to have really picked up on that "maybe 7 days of Chantix isn't enough for some people" theory.

I'm not gonna fall apart. I'm going to keep taking the Chantix, pick another Quit Day, and try again. I've read too many success stories to give up on myself too quickly. This battle is not over.

The day was, I have to say, very, very difficult, and I spent most of it just trying to get through one minute to the next. *Exhausting*. We worked on installing the new faucet, and at one point in the afternoon, hot and frustrated, I threw down a crescent wrench and yelled at the top of my lungs, "I JUST WANT A CIGARETTE, DANG IT!" I made it through that moment and a whole bunch of others.

But when I was watching TV in the evening... Oh, my gosh, I thought I was gonna die. I was crawling out of my skin. I wanted to smoke so badly. I tried to walk it off; I tried to breathe it out. I drank a glass of water. (And man, I do not like water.) I drank a Diet Dr. Pepper in gulps. (Because caffeine and fizz are so lovely any time.) I tried to play with paper. I tried to stamp a card. I tried to just sit still and concentrate on the TV.

I cried.

That's when I realized, OK, I am not ready for this quite yet.

I called my sister, I went out, and I bought a pack of cigarettes. I drove all the way home. (I live in the boonies, so I have to actually *drive* ten miles to get to a convenience store that's open past 10:00 at night.) I sat down, turned down the volume on the TV, and opened the pack of cigarettes sloooooowly. Relished it. Smoked the cigarette and nearly cried again from the relief.

Yeah. I think it was too soon to try to quit.

Oh, one strange little note: The pack of cigarettes I bought isn't even my regular brand. No one around here carries them, because I warned my nearest store that I was going to quit, and the owner didn't order any more of the Capri Menthol 120's. So I really am gonna hafta quit. I'm affecting the entire economic stability of my whole neighborhood!

3.5 hours

2007-08-08T15:30:00.000-04:00

I've been awake for three and a half hours -- unbelievable, I know, but every time I started to wake up this morning, I talked myself into going back to sleep under the conviction that if I woke up, I would just want a cigarette.

And I was fairly correct. I do want a cigarette. It's not like cold-turkey, when I was shaking and crying and couldn't function like a human being, and it's not like the nicotine patch, when I was just shaking a little and simply WANTED THE CIGARETTE. No crying involved. No, this is a mild, "Hey, there's something missing here," kind of feeling.

And it's pretty constant.

I'm wondering if I shouldn't have put my Quit Date off until the weekend. Not that the weekend is any easier -- it's just that the Chantix would have built up in my system somewhat. I dunno.

Right now I just keep telling myself, "I'm saving money. I made it half an hour. I'm saving money. I made it thirty-five minutes. I'm saving money. I made it an hour."

And so it goes.

The "quit strategies," the ones I was supposed to refer to when I had a craving? They're not helping much.

I'll go distract myself now.

Almost there...

2007-08-08T03:31:00.000-04:00

I'm almost to my Quit Day.

I haven't mentioned it on this blog yet, but I'm a night person. I stay up late; I sleep late. I'll be waking up around 11:00 or noon on Wednesday, August 8th, and I won't be having a cigarette with my morning coffee.

That pack in the picture? I'm hoping it's my last. I'm going to destroy any remaining cigarettes before I go to sleep tonight. My sister Amy -- she of the brilliant parody below -- suggested that I run over it with my beloved Prius. I adore my car. It doesn't even have an ashtray or a cigarette lighter. We think the symbolism of letting my beloved Prius do the dirty work is awesome!

But darn it, I have to confess -- I'm scared. I've tried to quit before, and I'm such a weenie. Smoking is so automatic for me. The GetQuit program has had me analyzing my triggers, and I have to confess that one of the major triggers for me is boredom. That's not even an option on the GetQuit surveys! I watch TV, I smoke. I eat, I smoke. I surf the Internet, I smoke. I drive, I smoke. Of course I smoke with my first cup of coffee and after meals. But honestly, I just smoke all day long.

This is so stupid! That's something Amy (my brilliant sister) mentioned the other day, how stupid smoking is. Why do I smoke when I'm bored? Can't I think of anything better to do? Of course I can; I've made lists of things to do when I have a craving.

... But...

I'm scared.

Please let me get through Wednesday afternoon. Just the afternoon, that's all I want; I just want to make it to dinner before I fall apart.

I've laid in a stockpile of toothpaste. I have lists of things to do when I have a craving. I'm working on a nifty papercraft thing. I'll watch the hummingbirds. I'll work on wrestling the old faucet out of the sink so I can install the pretty new faucet.

Lots of things to do. I can do this. I can. I can. I can. I hope I can.

A Song Parody

2007-08-07T18:43:00.000-04:00

My sister -- my totally brilliant sister -- wrote this for those of us trying to quit using Chantix. I love it! She gave me permission to share. Yay!

- To the tune of They Call the Wind Mariah

- {Ahem.}

Away out here they have a name
For those who play with fire.
When we light up, they scowl and point,
And they call my type "pariah."

Pariahs blow our smoke around
And set the crowds a-flyin'.
Pariahs know our habit means
That we will soon be dyin'.

Pariah...pariah...
They call my type pariah.

Now I'm fed up with coughs and stink,
And prices have me whinin',
And furthermore, I cannot smoke
Where other folks are dinin'.

So I got me some helpful drugs
This Chantix is the good stuff.
I'll get this monkey off my back
And powder's all I'll puff.

Pariah...pariah...
My clothes won't catch on fire.
Pariah...pariah...
My health won't be so dire.
[Big finish!]
Pariah...pariiiiiaaaaahhhh....
They won't call me pariah!

Nausea-free Tuesday

2007-08-07T15:49:00.000-04:00

I love the days without nausea!

Emily -- who just got her driver's license last week -- leapt up this morning and drove to town to buy me a pork chop biscuit so I would have a substantial breakfast before my dose. Total sweetie! She's really looking forward to my quitting this time.

Peer pressure is good, right?

Wesley and I had a lengthy conversation about Chantix and my trying to quit. He asked me if I want him to quit. But he smokes big, horribly stinky cigars. I've never smelled a cigar and thought, "Ooo, yummy, I want one of those." So I can't imagine that his smoking is going to bother me. It's not like it's real smoking.

Still blowing smoke rings to say goodbye to the cigarettes -- working on a little papercraft doodad for my self-motivation -- and I bought a new faucet to install in the kitchen. New water tap, new me, right?

I'm a little nervous about tomorrow, but I'm just trying to enjoy today.

Edited to add: I didn't get an email from GetQuit this morning! Where's my Daily Activity??? What'm'I s'posed to do without my GetQuit Activity????

Farewell to Cigarettes

2007-08-06T13:12:00.000-04:00

Dear Capri Menthol 120's,

I never had a cute nickname for cigarettes. I never called them cigs or 'rettes, cancer sticks or -- as Britney Spears says -- "Mommy's lollipops." So to call you something cute now seems ridiculous, especially since I'm writing this to say goodbye.

I started smoking when I was 18 years old, a freshman at Hollins. Strangest thing -- at my high school, only the rednecks smoked. When arrived at Hollins, the most expensive women's college in Virginia, loaded with rich girls and daddys' girls and scholarship girls, I was surprised to find out that not smoking was weird. The girls and professors would bring their own ashtrays to class, light up, and smoke throughout the lectures and poetry readings.

I resisted for several months, but as spring began turning the world green, I gave in. I bought a pack of clove cigarettes -- yes, cloves! -- and sat on the lawn in front of the music building with my friend Shelley, and I taught myself to smoke. Finally, I had something in common with all those self-assured, confident rich girls.

The switch to Marlboros was easy and logical -- they were less expensive than clove cigarettes.

That summer, I went to work at camp and one night on a counselors boat trip, one of my co-workers said, "Oh, try a menthol! They're so coooooool going down your throat. You've got to try it!" And I tried it, and honestly, that's when I became well and truly hooked. I tried smoking a Marlboro after that and it tasted stale and icky. I threw away half a pack and walked a mile or two to the nearest store to get a couple of packs of menthol cigarettes. I'm trying to remember the brand. I did like the flip-top box, so I think I started smoking Virginia Slims Lights Menthols. It was either that or Benson & Hedges Deluxe Ultra Light Menthols. Try buying a pack of those when you've been to a sorority party. I dare ya.

I'm a writer, so I could go on forever with these nostalgic memories. I remember that during those early years, when smoking was still allowed in most public places, strangers would actually walk up to me and compliment me on the *way* I smoked. They said I held the cigarette so elegantly. I think that was my theatre background -- I did tend to treat a cigarette like a prop.

When I started dating my husband, he would light my cigarettes for me as if he were a gentleman, until we had been dating for about two months. One night he picked up my lighter and started to reach across the table, stopped, and said, "Nope. I'm not going to help you kill yourself." I thought it was cute.

I taught myself to blow smoke rings one summer by smoking in front of the mirror a lot. I can still do it. I did it just last night for old time's sake. And because I might not ever do it again.

And that brings me to today -- and why I'm quitting smoking. It isn't because I don't like it. I do. I like taking a break now and then to smell the roses, watch the hummingbirds, drink a cup of coffee, and have a cigarette. And I absolutely adore smokers themselves. Judgmental non-smokers are a bane on the face of the earth, and if I become one of them, my sister has my permission to run over me with one of her cute little cars.

No, I'm quitting because it's getting too expensive. And while I like tobacco and love smokers, I have to admit, I can't climb a flight of stairs the way I used to. My teeth aren't as white and perfect as some people'e are. And I really resent the way the non-smokers are making tons of money off my cigarette taxes. They totally don't deserve that money. *I* do. I deserve my money. I can use it for all sorts of fun stuff for me, instead of letting the judgmental, un-fun, non-smoking governments (state AND federal) use my money for un-fun stuff.

It may not be the kind of reason that works for everyone, but it's my reason. And that's why I'm saying goodbye to cigarettes.

G'bye, little Capris.

Smooches,
Bay

Oops.

2007-08-06T12:56:00.000-04:00

I should've continued my postings yesterday -- I was going to give a brief personal background and catch up on my Chantix side effects so far. Now I have an assignment that'll take some time. Darn it.

OK -- brief Chantix history:
Tues., July 31st -- Doctor prescribed Chantix; I picked it up from the pharmacy (insurance doesn't cover it), and I read the package insert and surfed the Web trying to find info about it.

Wed., Aug 1st -- Started taking Chantix. Brief, mild nausea for the first hour after I took the first pill.

Thurs -- Brief, mild nausea for the first hour after I took it. Later that evening, I noticed that I was putting out cigarettes half-finished. It was as if it was too much trouble to keep them lit.

Fri -- Terrible nausea. All Day Long. Did nothing but lie on the couch, not eating, hardly smoking.

Sat -- Still took the next pill even after living through Friday. Brief, mild nausea for less than a half hour. Took *another* pill that night (increasing the dosage) -- no discernible nausea.

Sun., Aug. 5th -- Kept taking pills, started the Travail Blog. Pretty significant nausea after the second pill Sunday night. Kept smoking.

And that brings us to today, and I'll be posting more later, I'm sure.

Right now I have to write my goodbye letter to cigarettes. I think it's funny/strange/coincidental that the GetQuit program requires a goodbye letter, since I had already intended to write one -- well, a *version* of one -- on this blog. Great minds think alike?

Work, work, work, work, work

2007-08-05T16:52:00.001-04:00

I've been considering starting another blog for a few days, and today while writing the notes for the podcast that my sister and I publish, I decided, what the heck, I"ll do it. I'll need a safe place to go when I get frustrated and grumpy, anyway.

The name of the blog came to me this morning. My other blog is Bay's Travel Blog. I started it on assignment from a scrapbooking magazine 'way back in December, 2004. I spent four or five feverish days trying to figure out how to blog, calling my sister and crying. I already had trip reports that I could post -- and goodness knows I had tons of pictures. I had to get the whole designed, written, set up and posted before I could make a layout to send to the magazine. They did a screen capture of my blog, and voila -- Bay's Travel Blog was born.

It morphed quickly into a normal blog, though. I really don't travel enough to maintain a good travel blog.

So with a name like Bay's Travel Blog preceding, I thought it was pure genius to name this one Bay's Travail Blog. I expect that quitting smoking will be work. And goodness knows I'm suffering because of it. I like smoking. And I love smokers. And I wouldn't be quitting, except that it has gotten too expensive to keep smoking. I want to use that money for more fun things.

But I'll get to that later. For now, welcome to Bay's Travail Blog. If you came here for info about Chantix, I'll be posting more about it soon.

Cross my heart and hope to die.