Enjoy That Cancer Stick!

One year, motherfuckers!

2006-10-16T10:02:00.000-07:00

You heard me. Anniversary-themed rant to come...

This blog is pretty much dead

2006-03-01T15:03:00.000-08:00

It's time to finally admit that.

I apologize to the three or four regular readers, plus those total strangers who passed by now and again. This could've been, I sincerely think, an at least partially interesting little account. But there were two factors that led to its slow demise: 1) I got distracted by petty bullshit, and 2) quitting smoking, even after a 4 1/2 year addiction, turned out to be breathtakingly dull.

I'll leave this up, for reasons of posterity, and may even swing by if something major happens. Like what, you ask? Shrug. Maybe one of my lungs will be coughed up and land on my bedroom floor. Really, who can tell?

Thanks for stopping by and, in a couple cases, leaving comments. You're the tops.

No smoking blog, I wish I could quit you

2006-01-15T11:52:00.000-08:00

Many apologies for basically ignoring this site for so long -- in fact, I notice that tomorrow is the three month (!!) aniversary. I had hoped this would've been an endlessly thrilling blog, with updates virtually on the hour. Little did I know the struggle would be fairly prosaic; updates would've largely consisted of, "Yes, I still haven't mauled any nearby smokers and stolen their stash." You should be thanking me, if anything.

For those still periodically swinging by for updates, here's a quick round-up of what's occured, no smoking-wise, since I went all neglectful:

* I went off the patches, and thus all forms of nicotine, around x-mas time
* Perhaps as a result, I've grown lazier, more prone to lay around. No doubt due to this
* I've also put on a good twenty pounds, though jowls have yet to grow
* OT: I smoked a stogie on New Year's. That was awesome.

I'll be back -- just because I'm off the nicotine doesn't mean the trials are over. Lucky you.

I'm quitting smoking?

2005-12-06T20:29:00.000-08:00

Day 53. Oh, right. Forgot I was supposed to post on this. Anyway, not much to add, really, except for a couple terribly, terribly minor updates:

* That whole tired-all-the-time patch? It passed.
* Weight problem? Probably an exaggeration.
* Fear of quitting the patch completely? Quite palpable.
* Thinking about cigarettes all the time? I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention.

Otherwise, I live a healthy lifestyle, I breathe nicely, and I make sure to pinch my nostrils together when I pass by a smoker in the progress of smoking, raising it at the same time for the maximum snob/hypocrite effect. (Sometimes I walk up to them and faux-hack my lungs out. Fortunately, none of them have been Bill Hicks.) Bring on the Philly Smoking Ban!

Actually, that really does get my blood boiling. That might wind up my next Pedantic Post.

Right leg still mostly immobilized, thanks for asking

2005-11-28T17:13:00.000-08:00

Day 45. The plan, as though I really need to go into it again, was to take a more aggressive position on getting myself into shape once I quit smoking. (That is, quite apart from quitting smoking.) Gyms were to be joined, bikes were to be ridden, jogs were to be taken, and healthy food was to be imbibed at near-sickening amounts. Not one week into my plan, my knee cap went out.

As of last week, I hit the one month anniversary of this abrupt little accident. Needless to say, I've been doing very little of the planned shape-getting-into, which, also needless to say, means instead of becoming Mr. Healthy Buff Guy, I'm closer to George Clooney in Syriana. (And may I just say that his weight and facial hair gain was a very, very brave move for an actor of his handsomeness.) It's not as though I've been inert. I was only confined to invalid status for a week. Once I was physically able to walk, I did, and I've been long back to my more normal, non-friend-relying-on lifestyle. But everything's that much harder. I can't walk too, too much, or my knee gets red and I need to get off of it for a bit. Stairs are a continuous pain in the ass. And when I sit in public places (buses, subways, movie theaters, restaurants), I have to position myself in such a way that my leg is completely straight.

Okay, so that last one's more of a carp than a symptom of something dreadful.

What this -- or most of it -- translates into is pure, unadulterated exhaustion. As in, jesus christ am I tired all the time. It's not as bad as when I was sucking down a pack and a half a day, but it's eerily close. On Saturday, I finally switched to level 2 on the Nicoderm Life Plan Parade (the patch is smaller, wouldn't you know) and the effect was instantaneous and quite noticeable: basically, I became lethargic and energy-free. Halfway through the day, I simply passed out for awhile. It hasn't gotten much better. I'm pretty sure this didn't happen when I switched from ciggies to patch (45 days ago, as you know), and I'm wondering how long it'll be till my body takes the hint and gets in line. It better hurry up; I'm a busy man.

(Also, I apologise if this is just all too much whine whine whine, or especially so in this case or whatever. See the last paragraph.)

One month, motherfuckas!

2005-11-16T06:00:00.000-08:00

Day 32. I would just like to point out that it was exactly one month ago today that I slapped on the nicotine patch. You may now resume working, sleeping, or whatever it is you do at this time of day.

He cracked

2005-11-14T19:01:00.000-08:00

Day 30. Three of us decided to quit together. On Friday, one of us (not me) succumbed. Still plenty impressive, though, don't ya think? Should you need an equivalent, try quitting something that's intregal to your everyday life for almost a month. It's rough out there.

Here's what my trusty pamphlet, courtesy Nicoderm, says on the subject: "Discard your cigarettes, forgive yourself and then get back on track. Don't consider yourself a failure or punish yourself. In fact, people who have already tried to quit are more likely to be successful the next time."

So, by that logic, I should go buy a pack of smokes posthaste.

Chewing chewing gum

2005-11-09T20:18:00.000-08:00

Day 25. As I alluded to in my last post, I have recently come to realize that I have developed a new problem: addiction to Nicorette. Now, I'm officially on the patch, and I never decided to go two-handed here: when I started out, I chose to do the patch with additional, more visceral help from the gum, four of which I would chew a day. And I have kept to this. In fact, I have steadily decreased my intake, to the point where I'm down to two a day. So, you're asking, what's the problem?

Basically this: that I'm doing it at all. Apart from the physical/chemical needs for cigarettes, the hardest part of quitting is getting rid of the habitual ones. There are still times when the stress is high, or there's something else entirely, and I think, "Well, that's it, I want a cigarette." I then sate this desire with the gum. But as a fellow smoke-quitter pointed out, that's a feeling I should be fighting off as well. Otherwise, what am I quitting, exactly, when I'm still essentially giving into the addiction? (Okay, so the disappearance of hacking coughs is a plus.)

Except when I'm asleep, there is nicotine floating around my system at all times. The point of quitting smoking is not just getting rid of the cigarettes themselves; it's to completely rid yourself of nicotine. According to my trusty box, I'm due to step down to the next level of Nicodern -- from the current 21mg, which I've been on since the start, to 14 -- in 2 1/2 weeks. After that, the process gets a sudden adrenalin shot, with the next step-down -- to 7mg -- only two weeks later, and nothing two weeks after that. (In other words, I will then no longer be a smoker. I even have an according sticker I just can't wait to stick somewhere prominent.) As I type this, I have in my possession only four or five more sticks of Nicorette. Those shall be my last, no less because they are mindbogglingly expensive.* Better start the complete wean-off now.

* But only in a sense. Like Nicoderm, Nicorette is priced to be roughly equivalent to the amount of money you would spend on cigarettes in the alotted time. In other words, you spend what you would otherwise spend, only you do it all at once. The problem with this, and why I think this system needs to be severely restructured, is that those of lower socioeconomic backgrounds aren't going to be able to keep this up. If you run out and have twenty bucks in your wallet for the next couple days, you could save up and fight the cause with absolutely nothing to help you, or you could just cave. As anyone who's found themselves strapped for cash for a long period of time knows, getting healthy is expensive. Just as it's less a strain on your wallet to grab something at Wendy's than it is to grab something at Whole Foods, it's cheaper to buy a pack of cigarettes rather than buy a box of Nicoderm. Where are the eternal tax hikes on cigarettes going again?

Catching up

2005-11-08T14:37:00.000-08:00

Day 24. A partial list of the alterations to my non-smoking body that have caught my attention over the last week:

* the return of a less persnickety palette
* a healthier appetite, most notably for between-meal snacks (and, by the way, thanks, Halloween)
* an expanding second chin
* flabbier arms that could, for now, reasonably pass for muscle
* a greater sense of fatigue, and a need for at least seven hours of sleep on average
* more sporadic-than-usual spaciness
* an actual, honest-to-god, no-fucking-joke outbreak of acne over my face (I am 26)
* a sense of calmness that I actually decipher as eerie
* fur where there was no fur before (sorry; couldn't resist)

You'll notice that, other than the first two (and one of them's debatable), none of these are exactly pluses. Here we are, folks: into the dregs. I was expecting to gain at least a little weight, as that is normal and also, depending on who you ask, probably a good thing for me. (Though I never hit below 180 lbs., I have been described as "rail-thin," as I also happen to be hideously tall.) What I wasn't prepared for was to find my face dotted with more and more red dots as the days progress. Halfway through Junior High, I was hit quite extraordinarily by acne; dermatologists were consulted, numerous medications were prescribed, and I was grouped along with others ceremoniously dubbed "pizza face." Since high school, I had managed to moisturize my skin to the point where my face had taken on a babyish texture. Now, I'm worried.

Still don't crave a cigarette, though I think I've developed a new fixation: nicorette. But that's for another post. (Literally. It'll be the next one.)

Not posting much is good

2005-11-01T09:55:00.000-08:00

Day 16. For two reasons:

1) [self-deprecating remark]

2) It shows (or at least gives the illusion) that I'm not thinking about it much. Which I'm not.

I wish to now thank my kneecap for dislocating and, by turn, forcing me to concentrate most of my attention on my braced-up leg. Good work, patella.

People who smoke smell, and other news flashes from this week

2005-10-29T20:21:00.000-07:00

Day 14. 1. More specifically, smoke smells, and I now notice that. When you smoke, especially if you smoke in your place of residence, your sense of smell adjusts accordingly, as the stink attaches itself parasitically. Now that it's back to normal, I have to say y'all are right: that smoke sure smells funny.

2. More on the patch-induced vivid dreams. I'm officially sick of them, maybe even afraid of the havoc they've been wreaking upon my already fragile psyche. At first, it was kind of fun: I started eagerly anticipated sleep, which I rarely do, as each night promised some kind of wacky, highly unpredictable but invariably asinine misadventure. But they've since become genuinely upsetting. Presumably because my subconscious has already been mined for vaguely interesting material, my dreams now reach back to the confines of my memory, unearthing traumas that are not only very archaic but had been officially bested years before. (Let's just say they're as vivid as my descriptions of them are vague.) (Also, don't leave a comment re: my idiotic grasp of brain terminology. I'm on it.) As a result, I have developed a habit of suddenly bursting into inconsolable tears -- my first crying jags since the '90s. I think I have to stop wearing the patch while I sleep (the box actually mentions this, as though vivid dreams were always evil), but I'm reluctant because

3. Taking off the patch brings back the nic fits. My fellow smoke-quitters agree: as long as the patch is on, there is no urge. But two have reported that when they took it off for a bit, one out of cockiness, they immediately relapsed into a foaming, nervy, loud cig fiender. I've been that guy before. I hate that guy. I wish not to see him return. But look: my dreams are making me cry. It's embarrassing. Wish me luck.

A pun or somesuch on my busted-ass leg

2005-10-23T21:42:00.000-07:00

Day 8. Sorry for the lazy self-defeat inherent in the post title. I'm on an army of painkillers right now, as last night, while at a party, I leaned gently and casually against a table top, and wound up tumbling to the floor. You see, my kneecap (or "patella," as I now know to refer to it) went dislocated for no discernible reason, but badly enough to require a foamy, velcro-laden brace that keeps my leg at a perfectly (or not) straight trajectory. I am now an invalid, confined to the third floor of my house, finding new ways to use my crutches, and entertaining a battery of very welcome friends. (I thank you all. Do bring food.)

How does this remotely relate to this blog, i.e., my quitting smoking odyssey? Put simply: I have not craved one at all. And that's as baffling, really, as the injury itself.

Oh. If anyone has suggestions on how to wield the mighty crutch(es), please dish. Go upper body strength.

Nightmare on S. 18th St.

2005-10-20T19:02:00.000-07:00

Day 5. Still nothing life-shattering, but whatever you’ve heard about the patch giving you vivid dreams is true. For me, actually slipping into a dreamstate is an infrequent development at best. Morevoer, when I manage to remember the dreams I do have, they’re always mindboggling in their inanity. They invariably revolve around a mundane aspect of my life (say, my penchant for on-the-run hot dogs) that has been blown up to surreal importance. I wake up cursing my subconscious for being so fucking boring. Over the last four nights, I’ve dreampt about hanging out with ?uestlove and struggling to find the general science section in a Barnes & Noble-type establishment. In the latter (based, strangely enough, on an actual "incident" from last week), a reluctant clerk points me to the section’s new home in the store’s cavernous basement, which can only be entered after battling a series of Pitfall-esque trials. Freud was full of shit.

Though I remain more energetic and alert than ever, writing’s still a major, major chore. This blog could easily consist of me howling “Sentences aren’t coming to me!” every post. I therefore promise not to mention this problem till I get it licked. You’re welcome.

And away we stop!

2005-10-19T17:15:00.000-07:00

Welcome one and all to my first post, albeit one that, in typical me-fashion, is already three days late.

Ever since early March 2001*, I've been what I would describe as a "pretty heavy smoker." I never went so high as 2 packs a day, but I got awfully close. Moreover, for some of that time I was actually rolling them, which I discovered was a great way to impress girls while still spending next to nothing. (Plus, those anti-corporate anti-smoking commercials can't get to you.) But the girls never stayed around -- presumably because the smell did -- and do I really need to go into the yellow fingers and deep, layered coughs?

Anyway. Might as well put this in stone: On Sunday, 16 October 2005, at or around 10:20am, I sucked down my final two cigarettes, walked over to a pack of Nicoderm (those are the patches, for those not hip to the array of anti-cigarette products), and slapped one of those babies onto my forearm.

Not that anyone’s forcing me to do a near-daily chronicle of my plight (yes, I'm using such dramatic terminogly vis-a-vis this), and surely I'm not the type to indulge in such 12-Steppy shenanigans. However, I feel that a) I should let my future self know how I felt step by step, b) publishing these in the magma of the blogosphere on a semi-regular basis will play some hand in keeping me from slipping (fear of public humiliation is a powerful thing), and c) this is as good a place as any to pour out some unprocessed words and sentence structures when I’m suffering writer’s block from a combination of stress and cigarette smoking withdrawl (such as now).

Essentially, I have become so reliant on cigarettes, both as a jolt and an oral fixation, that I realized, to no one’s shock, that I sort of really need them to live. They're what I've used for many of my daily activities, most of all when it has come to writing. Last night, for instance, I couldn’t even bring myself to write at all. For the last hour, for another example, same thing. So here I am.

So how's it going on my fourth day in? Mashed potatoes and gravy -- mostly. I had essentially blocked this off as an option after my first, feeble attempt circa 2002 (via Nicorette), fearing that I would just collapse, unable to move, communicate, write and basically live if I entirely removed cigarettes from my daily diet. But these first two days have, relatively speaking, been a snap. The lovely, square, transparent thingie on my upper arm sends nicotine through my system, and at a mellow degree to boot. Along with the four pieces of Nicorette that I chew a day (for those times when I need a classic jolt, though given their strength, I wouldn’t dream of doing any more than my self-prescribed lot), it has effectively killed my physical/chemical craving for cigarettes.

All that’s left is my psychological and habitual needs for the stuff, and, much to my absolutely sincere surprise, those are pretty easy to ignore. No doubt this is due to my investment in a fuck-off phalanx of mints, gum, and Halls. (I recommend the fun pack, which mixes the regular, boring lozenges with fun ones, like the blend of fruit and cream that is the Fruit Breezer.) That helps my psychological need, but so far, and for obvious reasons, have yet to extend to my habitual need. I'm still having trouble shaking off thinking that a cigarette is right around the corner. Sunday night, I was on a train. When I heard that Philly was only 20 mintues away, I did a little mental hurrah!, denoting that I will be inhaling cancerous smoke by the score in that aforementioned time. Then I realized that no, I won't be doing that after all. In fact, I have little to look forward to (except fresh air, that is). The same with finishing a meal, walking to my morning shuttle bus, my little scheduled “break times” during work and, most of all, first thing in the morning. I already miss them, and not like a heart attack.

While the cravings have proved remarkably easy to pass over, there are occurrances I’m very alarmed about. Last night, I walked home feeling great, imparting my enthusiasm re: quitting as I inhaled big breaths, congratulating myself on a decision well followed-through. As soon as I got home, and for reasons I still can't comprehen, I collapsed. I couldn’t write, I couldn’t get over a headache, I had no energy and I wound up face down on my bed. I woke up at 3am, having apparently passed out somewhere between 10 and 11pm. This morning, too, I was insanely, absurdly slow, and actually muttering to myself over trivial things, like not being able to find my SEPTA token. I was useless for much of the morning, and was too scared of getting no advanced work on the Weekly done that, rather than head out to Elizabethtown (my first movie post-quitting), I went back home to make sure I’d make good use of my awake time. (I didn't. I have yet to start this week's writing.)

So for now, I have to experiment with my mutating body. Do I have to sleep more? If I chew less than four pieces of Nicorette a day, will I wind up with more energy for longer? If food can’t keep me going, will exercise? Will the lack of smoking (i.e., slowing my body down) up my metabolism, therefore making it easier to write in less time? And if so, do I just use that time to take walks and shit? And how long should I wait to step inside a bar that allows smoking? (Coffee, which typically makes my hyper, has yet to make me fiend for a smoke.) And perhaps more importantly, is it physically recommendable to take aspirin (or somesuch headache-relieving agent) to combat those times of overwhelming cranial fuzziness? This blog will be a journal of my findings. (Sorry for the mad scientist-isms. I just bought the new edition of Cronenberg's The Fly.)

For those who've made it this far, do know that most posts won't plod on for this long. This is purely introductory and I will try my best to keep this from slipping into anything remotely non-cigarette-related. Also be forewarned that I'm pretty damn sure things will get pretty disgusting around here. My cough's repulsive -- why shouldn't my description be too? We're edgy here, folks.

* It all started after seeing The Mexican. I still don't know the connection, if any.