Two Very Long Weeks.

Tomorrow (that's Friday 1 February) at 8:00 PM Central, I will have been officially not smoking for two weeks exactly. For some reason, I just haven't lit up, and the further I've gotten from my last one, the less I've wanted one even when I've wanted one, if you know what I mean.

I've got a pack with a lighter here on my desk, just like always, and my ashtray is here as well. There's a pack in my bag, one in the inside pocket of my favorite jacket, one in the "throne room", one upstairs in the games room, and two (one current, one backup) in Thumper (no smoking allowed in Skarlet The Zippy Red Car anyhow). I also have a full carton and a half-full carton here in the office. I haven't thrown out any cigarettes, any lighters, any ashtrays. All the stuff I need to spark up and feel the sanity that nicotine brings is right here where it's been for the six years we've lived in this house. If I threw it away, then it would be like I was a naughty child being punished, which would likely result in me sneaking off to the laundry room or the garage or the back staircase the first few times, then just going right back to it without missing much of a beat.

I feel better. The coughs that bring up a quart of gunk and make me sound like I should be in the TB ward have nearly ended. I am hungry ALL THE DAMN TIME but have fallen deeply in love with chocolate-chip chewy granola bars (100 calories per bar, 10 bars per box, 2 boxes for $3 at Target this week, woohoo); still, I can feel my jeans getting a bit snug and it's only been two weeks. (Guess next I'll have to dust off that godforsaken Bowflex that's in the holiday suite.)

The family is being very supportive. The twins know that Mumma's going to be a bit snarly because she's quit smoking, so now whenever a rant threatens, they run to give me a hug. Elder daughter sees my hands start to twitch and fidget, and then reaches over and holds my hand to shift my mind somewhere else (and really, how many 12-year-olds do YOU know who will hold their mum's hand in public?). Mark needs only to hear me scream "I WANT ONE" to jump into action -- his anti-smoking move is to drop me into a Rhett/Scarlet kiss!

Just thought I'd let you guys in on the reason why I've been a bit quiet lately. I'm pretty proud of myself, mostly because I have not reached in through anyone's left nostril to rip their lungs out, even though there are a couple of local realtor assholes who richly deserve it. So far, it's all good, going just a day at a time (with chewy granola bars and warm cuddles and hand-holding and big lovely smooches to help).