Well I made it the first day. That means that I am capable. Capable of being an asshole that is. There was just no happy feeling shit yesterday, and when Spouse came home after Happy Hour, tossed his cigs on the coffee table, pulled one out and readied to light it, I about lost it. Picture this:
There's me in my jammies gnashing my teeth, working on knitting the scarf for him, watching I Love Lucy the second season, and slowly adding to the detritus of wrappers on the coffee table - drumstick, beef jerky, gummi bears, etc. It's after nine, and I am so close to the finish line for the day, I can taste it. I can't wait to go to bed, because only then will I escape the terrible withdrawal symptoms. Like every cell of my being craves something, and I know what it is, but I can't give in. So he arrives a bit wobbly from the libations and gets all ready to talk to me and does the cigarette thing I already described. Horrified, I whine, "What are you doing, how can you do that to me, that's, that's ....", and then my mind does silly things like contemplate having one. He responds with a dozen sorrys and rushes back to the smoking room in the back (same room where the exercise equipment is) . I stay put.
When he came back, I don't really remember what happened, but I know that I eventually called him a bad name, (it doesn't matter that I can't remember why, he deserved it, or at any rate, I deserve to be able to call him a bad name on the first day of no smoking) and went to bed.
And now I'm awake again to face day two, another day of jagged thoughts and barbed feelings. How come it's supposedly harder to quit cigarettes than heroin, but I don't get to have any methodone? You know, a little methodone would be nice I bet, really rout out this dagger of angst inside.
Or general anasthesia, can I sign up for three days of that? Why, that would be the way to go, just skip these first three days, poof, erased from conciousness.
Ok, I'll go, have a good weekend, I think you know how mine'll be.