day one: blown

Roughly 19 hours ago, I was half-awake in my thinking chair, working on website stuff, deadline stuff, pointless, inertnet stuff. I stubbed out my cigarette and shortly, my hand went for the pack, and it was empty. Fraction came over to borrow a smoke, and I apologized, said I was out, that I was going to head to the Quik Trip for more smokes. He dug up a loose Marlboro next door and smoked it and after he left, I sat in my chair and slipped deeper and deeper into semiconsciousness.

Well Chris, you can go get some cigarettes or you can just quit smoking.

So I guess I decided to quit smoking. When I woke up this morning, still in the chair, ashtrays overflowing and two empty packs scattered around, I figured, Okay. Let's see what this is like.

I guess I quit smoking, and that's how it's been all day. Constant reaffirmation, like the mantra some people repeat, 'Every day and in every way, i'm becoming a better and better...' I still took my smoke breaks, which involves going down to the lobby and getting on another elevator to go down to the 3rd garage floor, where the smokers are allowed to mill around the elevator bank, puffing away. I would take my book and just stand against a pillar and read. It was everything but the cigarette in my hand. It felt, oddly, just as satisfying.

But here's the thing. I have felt completely stoned, wasted and sedate all day long, like removing nicotine from my menu has, instead of causing me to fidget and tense up, has been like a permission slip to just relax. No more worrying about cancer, no more chest hurting from my accidental jaunts into 2-pack-a-day-land, no more worrying about when I would actually get around to quitting.

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Whatever it is, I haven't felt this calm or at peace with the world and everyone in it as I do right now in quite a long time. I'm sure right now, huge hunks of phlegm and cancer and tar are starting to dislodge from my lungs and I'll spend the next month spitting up ropes of this green/black legacy I've left to my lungs. I'm sure this stoned bliss will give way to irrational anger, hairpin annoyance, and I will generally be the most unpleasant person to be around ever. I'm sure I will fail and eventually turn to a friend and beg for a cigarette and suddenly I'll see everything in reverse from where i normally viewed it. But right now, I'm stupidily happy, like the sun rises and sets in my bloodstream and jettisons capsules of vicodin every half hour.

Of course, I'm sitting here with some extreme house makeover show on, the kind with the obnoxious shouty host and the extra-extra-queer designer and the heartstrings tugged with ruthless efficiency, and I HAVE TO see how it will end, even as my eyes are misting up at the same time as the family's eyes. So maybe this is the hard part they always talked about...