Thursday, July 7, 2011

I'm sure there's still something worth living for....

Ugh….So I quit smoking today. 

I find this to be the way that most people make this statement.  With an “Ugh” or some other grunting, groaning noise.  That’s pretty much how I feel about it too.  I love smoking.  I love the taste of my menthol death stick.  I love the feeling of filling my lungs with smoke.  I love exhaling a cloud of second-hand cancer into the air.  Nothing in life is as satisfying.

But… I can’t breathe.  I’m even starting to wheeze.  Not good. 

Fiancé-Face says things like “you’re gonna die” when I start hacking.  I don’t like this.  Of course I’m going to die.  I’m not a freaking zombie.   I know he means sooner rather than later, but so what?  You don’t need to harp.  Boys….

I begin my day with the alarm clock blaring, “zzzzzzt, zzzzzzt, zzzzzt”, from across the room.  Fiancé-Face jabs me in the back to speed up the turning off of said obnoxious noise.  I slap the snooze button on the top of the alarm clock, as opposed to turning it off, to get revenge for the back jab, and stumble down the stairs to get some sort of caffeine.

Coffee in hand, now I being the process of attempting to expel the crap that sneaks into my lungs in the night.  It’s like the ninja of bodily fluids.  Methods include hot coffee, and of course a cigarette.  Usually by the time I’ve brushed my teeth I’m feeling cleared up. 

But not so much lately.

We’re lying in bed last night watching a movie, when my lungs start their fun little noises that indicate that maybe smoking just might kill me.  It sounds like a wet rattle snake has crawled its way into my lungs, and now something is pissing it off.

So I wheeze, and Fiancé-Face just slightly turns his head in my direction.  I cough, just a little (even though what I REALLY want to do is hack up a lung, but then he’ll have some comment, so I just clear my throat instead), and he looks back at the TV.  This happened exactly as described 4 or 5 more times before the movie was over. 

Now in my head I’m saying “ok You, time to quit.  Do you hear yourself?  This is getting serious and it’s time to think about your health”.  My little voice gave me a little pep talk and I was all set to quit this morning.

Then Fiancé-Face says “your lungs are rotting”.  This instantly has an effect exactly opposite of the one I can only assume he was hoping for, in that I became defensive.  When I’m defending myself, I can’t admit I’m wrong.  So now, instead of saying “I know honey, I really did intend to quit tomorrow, and it’s cute that you care enough to insult me”, I just remind him that his lower jaw is totally going to fall off from that crap he stuffs in his lip sooner than my lugs will give in from the crap I inhale through a filter.

Because now it’s not my idea…  Instead of being strong and deciding to quit for my health, I’d be quitting because he thinks I should.

And screw doing anything he thinks I should.  I’m a feminist, damn it.

But here I am anyway, with a patch on my left shoulder.  I haven’t had a cigarette in a whole….6 hours. 

Wait….that’s it?  6 freaking hours?  ::Sigh:: 

Well, I haven’t killed anyone yet.  Not yet…..

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Shouldn't You Be Working by Bethany Davenport is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.