I would quite like a cigarette right about now please.
Boozefags aside, I've managed to go a week without smoking. I've eased off on the binge eating, turning instead to raisins and glasses of water. I've survived missing my quitters support group and thus the ritualistic holding of hands, drinking of tea, hearing what other people have been up to. It's been suspiciously quiet on the "support network" email front. Either everyone's quietly started smoking again, or there's a riot happening and nobody told me about it. Carmen struck me as the subtle type.
Obviously I'm now coming to the customary stage of any new fad endorsed by me where the shine's worn off and I'm not being praised enough. I'm meeting a friend in the pub later and unless the journey is unstressful (unlikely) and the gin is cheap (is the Southwark Tavern a Sam Smiths?) I'll either want to eat the curtains or surreptitiously roll up a cigarette. So much for avoiding drink, my smoking link up: I live in the pub. Or cocktail bar. Or gigs with attached pub/bar. Or screenings with free bar. It's too rude to turn all that down.
A quitting story courtesy of the delightful Carole on Journobiz.
"My Dad used to give up every few years - and just as abruptly start again - I mean if you don't smoke for 14 or 15 months, what, then, makes you start again?
His health is very poor now (he has Parkinsons) so hasn't smoked for about 20 years.
We always knew if he was giving up - his car would fill with bags and bags of boiled sweets. He also used to get very ill - his theory was that the smoke stopped him breathing in live germs ('cause the smoke killed them off before they could attack his body!). Not only cold turkey, but a whole succession of colds!"
My favourite bit of advice from Carole was to treat myself to a bunch of flowers: "They're non-fattening and you will be able to smell them properly."