That's right, my bloggers. I, Scribe, am a quitter. Well, as of 41 minutes ago.
After being a social smoker-turned-regular, I am giving up the tobacco, the smokes, the cancer sticks. Truth is, I used to love to smoke. Socially on the patio, the Matinee King Size Slims were part of my party arsenol. I'd buy a pack for a night on the town and smoke for an evening, storing them in the freezer so they'd be "fresh" for the next time two weeks or a month later. There they would be, between the ice cube trays and the bags of coffee beans. My friends. A little while later I would take my friends out more and more often.
The truth is I was a late bloomer, picking up the habit when I was 35. Thirty-five! I had avoided it all those years before, thinking I would be a traitor if I did. Both my parents smoked and I would chastize them for it, snubbing out their cigarettes when they weren't looking. They quit in 2000 after more than 50 years living with the habit, and five years later, I took up their charge. What a fucking moron, but I will be a moron no more.
May 25th is the new dawn of no more smoker's cough. So unattractive, it's a wonder my boyfriend still kissed me. No more sneaking a puff on my way to the karaoke bar where I'd sneak a puff between songs. No more taking Kao out for a pee and a quick drag.
Wish me luck, bloggers. It hasn't been a lifetime but it's been long enough to create quite the habit. Sure, I'll still tuck away the $10 I used to buy the cigarettes but this time it will go into the travel fund and I'll have a smoke-free, healthier lifestyle where birds will chirp, squirrels will carry on conversations with me and dogs and cats will happily co-exist. Oh damn, that's the nicotine withdrawl already starting! Save me Nicorette!