I Am A Quitter.

...that's the plan, at least. I promised not to whine, but I am going to talk about it here. I figure this is one of a couple of good ways to keep my hands occupied. I also figure that since 78% of my life isn't quite as sunny as I'd like it to be, I might as well get with the zeitgeist and go for pure, balls-out misery.

The server time is funky, of course. That means that today is the day I decided to quit, since I wrote "yesterday's" daylog this morning. So today I smoke up a storm and prepare for the worst.

I've received a ton of support from several great people already, some of whom tell me to take it easy on myself with this quitting thing. I think that's good advice, so I am upping my allowed dosage of cigarettes per day from three to five. That will give me one after each meal, one while I write, and one while I proofread what I write. That should work out okay.

Well, I mean, as okay as it can be. Besides, there's an E2 precedent that's already been set. If HE can do it, by god so can I.

Special thanks to one JohnnyGoodyear, who encouraged me to fight the good fight; to Chiisuta, who reminded me that cigarettes are not only stinky but spendy; and to allseeingeye, who shamed me into this in the first place.

When you get right down to it, smoking doesn't make a lot of sense. I mean, I'm basically paying a large, faceless, evil corporation to blacken my lungs, smoke up my hair and clothes, and make me distasteful (literally) to over half the people I might one day want to have relations with.

I got my stash of quit materials together today. To wit:

  • One (1) carton of Nicoderm CQ transdermal nicotine patches, 21 milligram strength
  • Two (2) large bags butterscotch candy discs, sugarless
  • One (1) Val-u-Pak Dentyne Ice gum
  • Two (2) giant packs of pre-cut, pre-washed baby carrots and celery pieces (along with a giant jar of my favorite all-natural chunky peanut butter for dippin')
  • One (1) of those really neat-o feeling squishy balls that are filled with goo and other smaller squishy balls, (so I have something to do with my hands while I'm reading)
  • Two (2) Extra-spicy sandalwood scented candles (one for computer room, one for bedroom, as yummy-smelling alternative to yucky nasty cigarette smoke)
  • One (1) extremely gross printout of a dead smoker's blackened lungs (which I will hang up tomorrow by my workstation but that I currently have hidden under some envelopes because I am smoking tonight, by god)
  • One (1) plane ticket. This is a special item. Last spring I got bumped during the NCAA Basketball Tournament, so the airline gave me two free tickets to anywhere in the continental US. I gave one to my sister. This one's for me, and it's hanging on my bulletin board looking all fetching. When I want to smoke, I will instead research a kickass destination to visit once I've been clean for three months. It's my REE WARD. (Note: I am currently taking suggestions for said kickass locale. My trip will be around Decemberish, if all goes well, so think warm and preferably beachy.)

If anyone thinks of other things I might need for quittin' time, feel free to message me with ideas.

I have also pared my extensive ashtray collection down to one lone, ugly ceramic ashtray, which I will ceremonially toss into the Snake River by the light of the full moon later this evening. It is an ancient ritual that I just made up. Plus, ceramic is biodegradable.

From now on, the five daily cigarettes I am allowing myself to smoke until my birthday (henceforth referred to as Q-Day) on September 5 will be snuffed out by tossing the butts into the toilet. No more ashtrays for Ashley. I've willed all my lighters to Mom, so if I want a light after tonight I'll have to meekly go to Mom or Dad to ask for one. How demeaning.

I anticipate the most difficult obstacle will be ignoring my parents, both of whom smoke rather constantly. I tried, with not a whit of success, to charm my mother into quitting along with me. She laughed a throaty smoker's chuckle and told me, very gently, to pack sand. (She and Dad are in full support, though, and my bet is that they will do their best to smoke outside while I'm around.)

Speaking of outside, the sun's working up to a nice set, and that gives me about another hour and a half to smoke a little more. Time to go outside, reflect a bit, and plan where I want to toss this lumpy old ashtray.

I think I can...I think I can...

In ten days, Sam will be 36.

I am still six days younger than he is. I am also going to be a non-smoker. I think that means I win.