Windchimes

three days till big girl pants

Ahya, school has started once again, keeping most of my waking time occupied. This morning saw the first paper I've ever written sans cigarettes. Had to write a short autobiographical sketch in German, 300-400 words. Mine was barely over 300.

At 11:30 this evening, I'll have gone completely through 22 smokeless days, or as I told one of the French profs this afternoon, vingt-deux longues, longues journées.

This third week has been tough. The quitting website has what they call a "quitticism" for the week just before the week that sees what they name "toddlerhood." They call the week before that one "weak week." I'm not so sure that's a good idea. Probably going on a forewarned is forearmed basis, but I wonder if it doesn't also plant a suggestion in the mind.

At the end of that "weak week" comes another quitting anniversary with a fun name. They call it "getting your big girl pants" or "big boy pants" because you've now entered toddlerhood.

I can tell ya certain there've been a few teeter-totter moments. I've said things like "whaddya think you're doin', trying to quit while you're still going to school? Shouldn't you wait till after that's done?" to myself. Still, the longer I go without a cigarette, the less I find myself willing to give up that many days of what they term "smobriety."

Funny thing though. I've now got a raw throat and starting to feel those tiny hairs in my lungs and windpipe trying to oust all the smut my smoking has left in my lungs over the years. It's not fun. I'm still waking up with that cigarette taste in my mouth too.

And I still wish I could just go to sleep and wake up unaddicted.

J.H. Larrew
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