My friend

I read this story the other day about a man who filmed himself driving down the emergency lane of a busy highway with his pet parrot clinging to the windscreen wiper. I stared at that photo of ‘Angus Action Bird’ clinging to the wiper blades and staring death right in the face as the car sped down a highway at 100 km an hour and I thought to myself: Yeah, the fucken bird gets it.

Because making the decision to quit smoking and setting an actual date is really very similar to hurtling down a highway on the bonnet of a car: it’s fast and scary and you feel like there’s absolutely nothing to hold onto. Just like Jerry Maguire, you’re free falling.

Unlike my fairer friend, I am not quitting for the right reasons, like health and morality and the environment. I am quitting because I want to get laid more, and the general public have led me to believe that smoking makes me as unsexy as a shit in a paper bag. I firmly believe that if I quit, I will have more sex. Preferably with this guy who works downstairs at my building, but smokers can’t be choosers. Once I am a non-smoker, I will have nicer skin, I will smell and taste nice, and also, I won’t get chased out of town with torches and machetes, which is what the Government is obviously aiming for with its anti-smoking campaigns.

I expected that when I announced last week that I was quitting, I would be given a cape and gown and applauded as I strolled mightily about the office. Not so. My co-worker said in surprise “Oh but you’ll get so fat! You’ll never leave the chocolate drawer alone!” Well guess what Michelina, I already hound the shit out of that drawer, that ain’t gonna change.

My mate said “But smoking looks so sexy on you!” What is it that’s sexy exactly? The cats bum mouth I make when I’m inhaling?

Or, the best one “Well, you can only quit if you’re really ready.” Oh, are you sure? Because I’ve been thinking for the last fifteen years that I can just quit at any moment, like, ‘Hey that seagull just shit on my car, I’m gonna quit!’ Or ‘I just dropped my toast and it landed buttered side up, I’m gonna quit!’

Despite this underwhelming response, my mission remains clear: quit smoking: get laid. Just like Angus Action Bird, I’m gonna stay on this damn ride, all the way to the finish line.

Or, in the words of Angus’s dashingly humane owner: "You know what people? Not only have you just seen him on the bloody freeway doing nearly 100 kilometres an hour. If you look bloody closely, his eyes are closed."


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Seeing things

Day 6

I'm not sure if it is the medication I'm on to quit smoking or the sheer desire to have one but I have been imagining my work colleagues heads are cigarettes. So white, lit up so brightly and a trail of smoke flying to the ceiling.
I am officially losing my mind.

I wonder, will I be the kind of non-smoker who hates smokers or who follows them around to get a whiff of smoke and potentially a nicotine hit? 

quit dates

Day 5

After all these years I never really knew how much cigarettes had a hold on me and that I was in a relationship with them.

I have often wondered what will make me stop. What keeps me going on even though I’ve witnessed cancer directly in my life. 

Last year, an acquaintance announced his impending marriage to his partner of more than 5 years, however, this person was having an affair. As people spoke about the news I sat there knowing this information and I didn't judge and I didn't gossip.  On the night before the wedding I ran into him at the local pub and as we were acquaintances, he wasn't aware that I smoked. As I lit up, he called me disgusting and that I was filthy for smoking – ‘how could I live with myself’, he said.  This spurred a number of thoughts in my head - I asked myself, 'how can I be this filthy, when he was entering a marriage in lies?'
Perhaps his personal attack was a catalyst, I don’t know and does it even matter now?

Who knows if this blog will be therapeutic or just something to bide time during insomnia but I am sure other people who are quitting can relate.

Quitting could even be amusing.