Yes everybody, it’s true. I have quit the stick. What stick? you may ask. Well…it’s not my addiction to certain sticks, I can assure you. I have not quit using drum sticks (because they’re loud), dip sticks (because they’re useful), broom sticks (because I need to keep my house dust free with the added bonus of alternative transportation) or beating people with ugly sticks (because they deserve it).
Out of guesses yet…?
Well I will tell you. I have in fact quit killing myself willingly with “The Tobacco Death Stick!”
Ah yes, otherwise know as coffin nails, ciggies, cigs, smokes, fags or cancer sticks.
I truly loved that burning, smokey, smelly, smooth, son of a bitch cigarette that dangled from my mouth and fulfilled almost every need that I had. Yet, like the lecherous lover that sucks the oxygen from your soul and all goodness from your heart, I got rid of them, albeit sadly and reluctantly, just like all girls do in bad relationships. So these days have been filled with the wonderment of withdrawal, anger, crying and insanity among other things. I thought I might share them with you, as my friends are sick of listening to my pathetic whimpering nicotine addiction drivel anymore. And let me please assure you, it is really pathetic. So, let’s all get out our ice cream and tears as we go through my last 50 days of saying goodbye to my ‘ol friend Nicotine. The love affair that lasted 22 years.
The first thing I have realized is that smoking was my answer to everything in my life….and I Mean Everything!
Happy? Smoke. Sad? Smoke. Bored? Smoke. Lonely? Smoke. Stressed? Smoke. Had a good day? Smoke. Finished a chore? Smoke. Feel Fat? Smoke. After sex? Smoke. No sex? Smoke. Need something? Smoke. Hungry? Smoke. Feel Bad? Smoke. Feel good? Smoke. Feel cool? Smoke. Writing? Smoke. etc…etc…etc..
Now that I am not smoking, how am I filling all those freaking voids you ask? Well here’s how…
Happy? Cry. Sad? Cry. Bored? Yell, then hate your life, then cry. Lonely? Cry, then eat, then cry. Stressed? Furiously walk while crying like a lunatic and yelling to yourself in the street. Had a good day? Think of your tight pants, then yell and follow it up with pathetic sobbing and ice cream. Finished a chore? Do another chore and another and another and another then cry on the floor when you’re tired. Feel Fat? Cry, then buy new pants, then a doughnut and follow that up with hating your life. After sex? Resume sex as there is no relief. No sex? This is a dangerous one… there will be a combination of crying, yelling and cursing while consuming a banana, followed by a kick in the nuts to a random male. Need something? Go and buy it and if there is not enough money, then cry for hours while cursing your pathetic existence.. Hungry? Eat the entire contents of your fridge and then cry. Feel Bad? Eat the entire contents of your fridge and then cry. Feel good? Eat the entire contents of your fridge, which should change your mood to bad and then cry. Feel cool? You no longer feel cool, unless feeling cool means large muffin tops and crying.. Writing? Cry, then write, then cry, then eat the entire contents of your fridge, and cry then write then cry too much to write. etc…etc…etc…
I have realized that I am now a very Large Asshole!
The fact that I am a cranky bitch asshole motherfucking dick 99% of the time now really pisses me off! I mean, I was a bitch before and a smart ass and honestly a bit of an asshole, but I did not hate every fucking thing on the face of the earth, every damn minute of my life as I do now. It is insanity.
On T.V. I witnessed the reunion of long-lost relatives who were separated by war and famine. I watched them run towards each other with yearning and tears. Mother and child, husbands and wives, together again after so much pain and I literally thought…
I saw some Girl Guides skipping down the street happily and I thought..
What? No Cookies for me? I HATE YOU!
I won $10 with my lottery tickets and I thought…
10 Bucks? What a Piece of Shit Crap Assed Prize That is. (Until I realized I could buy two bags a chips with these winnings)
I saw two people holding hands in the park and I thought…
What a pair of Fuckers!
(now this was probably a true statement, but I did not mean it literally. I did mean it with hate though).
I wake up and think…
I’m sure you get the picture. It isn’t pleasant on a good day. I am a miserable bitch.
I have a 10 Pound Pooch
A pooch is what my daughter calls a little tummy and due to quitting and excess eating, I now have a 10 pound pooch that despite exercise, is making my pants tight and my morale low. I figure my only chance of embracing the pooch is to become a super hero with a pooch. I will name myself either Super Pooch or Poochahontas, and I will slap the criminal element of the world down with my excess pooch ponch and knock them unconscious. Could you imagine flab fighting crime? It would be impressive and creative and I wouldn’t have to buy that Bow Flex. If I give the pooch a job, then maybe I can accept it for a little while. Maybe.
Now, I have to Go…
As I write this I have literally started crying. I will now drink water and chew gum while crying. It seems that I cannot even finish a blog post, as this was the time of night I smoked and so now I am insane. The tears are making it hard to type and I still have to eat the entire contents of my fridge tonight then lay on the floor and hate even breathing. So I say, wish me luck. I think I am going to need it on multiple levels now. If I can only turn my love of nicotine to hate and this pooch to an 8 pack, life may again be livable. Maybe.