DAY 10: Dignity Dies First

Art Brut - "DC Comics and Chocolate Milkshake"


Ten.

Ten whole days without so much as a puff of a cigarette. It's been nearly four years since I've done that. I smoked every day. If I didn't have any on me, I'd rush to buy a pack, even if I had a near full pack at home. If I was broke (which I often am) I would bum from my friends (a practice I elevated to the status of war crime).

But that was not the worst. Here is how I knew I was addicted to cigarettes:

If it came down to it, and I was broke as fuck and there was no around to bum from and I just needed a cigarette, not wanted, straight up needed, I would walk outside to the patio, and ho-kay, try to find a half smoked cigarette on the ground.

Yeah. I did that.

Sometimes it would take a while to find one that wasn't entirely smoked or, in whatever arbitrary conditions I was relying upon, unsuitable for smoking (due to the fact that it had been lying on the ground outside AFTER SOMEONE THREW IT OUT).

There's not much logic to this behavior. I'd waste time sifting through refuse, hoping against hope that I could find that thing that would put dangerous substances into my body in order to satisfy a fix that, like my obsession with microwaving aerosol cans, will one day kill me. This is the same kind of thought process that goes into eating a stuffed crust pizza from Pizza Hut. You're putting garbage into your system, but goddammit if it doesn't hit the spot.

It was compulsive behavior. All addicts are compulsive. It's why I have pulled over to the side of the road on Wilshire to try and find a cigarette I'm just sure is hiding under my seat. I think my dignity died first when I began smoking.

Heavy shit. I want to say now that I do not have any pictures with semi-clever captions in this post. If that's a deal breaker, I totally understand.

Now that I've said what I needed to say, and in a manner that wasn't nearly as brief or as entertaining as it should have been, I can proudly report that I kicked ass this weekend.

On Saturday I hung out at USC with a very nice lady friend. It was interesting to be back at my old school. We attended an indie book fair, that while being hip, was in no way overbearing. All in all, the day was lovely.

That night I went to a friend's party, my first as a non-smoker. I did not have high hopes going in. I dreaded an anxiety fest of patch scratching and beleaguered conversation on my part. Instead I hung out for a while, talked to a lot of people and ate some delicious pigs in blankets. I even hung out with the smokers outside. It involved a fair amount of self-control, but it was great to know I'm capable of it.

Sunday and Monday passed without incident. Nothing much else to add.

Most importantly, I've realized that a blog consisting merely of posts congratulating myself on not smoking, is a blog that will wear itself thin by day twelve. That is why Wednesday morning (4/22/09) I will wake up early on my day off, drive to Tarzana and meet a vert nice woman named Cinda. Cinda is a hypno-therapist. I am going to be hypno-therapatized.

My roommate underwent hypnotherapy for quitting smoking and I've been fascinated by the process. I'm not entirely sure what it entails, how it works, if it works, or what I'm hoping to achieve. Honestly, I'm only doing it to give myself something to write about. Also, to entertain you, the readers, many of whom are people other than me.

I'll get my shit together tomorrow after the session and post something that night. Wish me luck. Or don't. Either way if you've read this far, I'm sorry for the bad grammar.

DAY 10: DONE

Cigarettes smoked: 0