Through the Haze Day #2

I was right.

Today is harder. 

When I am at work, my day succumbs to a normal schedule and fairly regular cigarettes.  Add to that the fact that I have many smoking friends.  Add to that the fact that my section of the building is just inside the smoking area so I smell a faint cigarette odor all day. 

Oh and I wouldn’t be painting a full picture if I didn’t point out the incessant banging happening above my head today.  I do mean literally:  they are replacing the roof of our building this week.  Eee-yeah … I am so not happy with Murphy right now.  The timing is ironic (isn’t it?  I’m never quite sure I’m using that right), considering the roof has leaked for the last twenty years. 

All work and no smoke makes Candice … er, testy shall we say?

The good news is that I still feel strong-willed, it’s just that the cravings are a bit harder to get by today.  Brian and I started talking about a five-month reward that has me very excited today and gives me something to look forward to (it’s a little too up-in-the-air to mention just yet). 

Like all smokers do, I have periodically questioned why I started smoking in the first place.  Flash back to 1992, to a 13-year-old me. 

I’m not going to deny the obvious here; that is not what these blog entries are about.  I started smoking because I thought it was cool.  Yup… in my case, it was exactly the reason that everyone says.  I denied it for a long time but that’s it.  No question. 

I was a self-conscious kid looking for acceptance from just about everybody.  The smokers in school … well, I imagined them sitting around smoking, drinking beer, and *gasp* smoking “dubies”.  To a religious kid that felt a little too sheltered by the wings of the church congregation and youth group, their lifestyle made me full of wonder and questions and it seemed like where I wanted to be. 

I remember when I first started smoking every day.  I would get off the bus, proceed directly to the smoking area, smoke the first dizzying smoke of the day, and then proceed directly to the bathroom where I would throw up.  Seems ridiculous, right?  That I would put up with the sickness? 

But you know what made it worth it?  The smokers were talking to me.  They were mostly surprised that I was out there, at least initially, but they were talking to me.  They were even bumming smokes and drags off of me.  We smoked together, we froze our asses off together, we dodged the occasional fist fight together… it was a whole new world. 

I never did actually make it into the smoker’s crowd because there wasn’t one.  I learned fairly early that the smokers were not just one clique but a mish mash of people from several cliques that were reformed once the smoke was burnt.  There wasn’t just one type of smoker, there were all kinds:  the jocks, the goths, the rednecks.  And yes, even a few christian kids pushing their limits. 

And so I continued on… with the church youth group, playing in the band, singing in the choir, and making (mostly) very good marks.  But I did it all while I was smoking.  People decided that adding smoking to that mix of traits was surprising and unexpected and, you know, I liked that.  I guess it made me feel a little more individual. 

I guess that is why I say that giving up smoking feels like I’m giving up part of my personality.  Of course it’s no longer a matter of impressing someone or getting in with the “cool” crowd.  But I was a smoker through all those years of shaping the person I am today… physical addiction aside, how do you not feel attached to it?  It has been there when I’ve been sad, glad, mad, frustrated, stressed out, drunk, and nervous.  It has been there after meals, before concerts, after sex, during beer drinking, and many times just because.  It has been there for me when I’m up, when I’m down, when I’m driving, when I’m gardening, and many many times in between. 

Quitting smoking means replacing that thing in your life that is there during all those times and emotions.  It is just plain hard. 

Maybe that helps the non-smokers understand just a little bit better. 

But it can only be a little bit. 

It’s 3 o’clock and a severe mell of burning tar just wafted through the building.  Time to go bang my head against a wall.