For the past few months, I've promised myself that I was going to quit smoking cigarettes. But seeing as how I was going to be spending 8 days in France (the unofficial home of smokers worldwide), I thought it would be best to hold off on quitting until I got back home to NYC.
Well, I'm home now and today is officially my 2nd day as a non-smoker. No patch. No gum. No medication. Just cold fucking turkey, man!
Now, personally, the main problem with my quitting cigarettes is that I don't really want to quit. I LOVE smoking cigarettes. They relax the hell out of me and they go great with coffee and scotch. Besides, I happen to look very cool smoking. (I know. Totally superficial. But I'm only half kidding. If you ever saw me smoke, you'd want to start smoking too. I'm really good at it.)
Even more unfortunately, I've got a freakishly abnormal cardiovascular system so smoking has never really affected my wind. Sometimes, I'd sit in a cafe, smoke half a pack, go to the gym, play ball for a few hours, and then come out and smoke the other half pack. Back in the day, I sometimes even carried cigarettes with me when I went out for a 5-mile run.
Now before anyone gets all holier-than-thou on me, let me just interject here and state that I've never smoked a cigarette anywhere near my little daughter. Not even outside. Not anyplace where she could even see me smoking. For me, there's nothing more despicable than seeing a mother pushing a stroller with a cigarette dangling out of her mouth. Absolutely disgusting and completely immoral.
But it's ironic because I'm quitting smoking basically for two reasons and both involve my daughter. The first reason is because I love spending time with her and I want to ensure that I live as long as possible so that we can continue to hang out together for many years. Even though I still think I'm immortal, I figure it's best to play the safe odds.
The second reason I'm quitting is because I need to get life insurance. Now, as any man can attest, there's nothing quite like getting life insurance to make you feel as if your youth is behind you. Sure, marriage, joint checking accounts, sore knees, a VP promotion, fatherhood and 529 planning all make a guy feel older. But getting life insurance? That's like getting bitch slapped by middle age. It's more than a little disarming. But duty and responsibility dictate that I plan for any worst-case scenario to ensure that the Peanut is not fiscally affected by my death. It comes part and parcel with my job as the Peanut's protector.
So back to my smoking. It's Day 2, how am I doing? Really, it's hard to tell. I'm too busy shoving food in my mouth. Seriously. My appetite has multiplied exponentially. It's like I've got a parasite inside me (and I think his name is Phillip Morris.) When I'm not hungry, I go through periods where I want to take someone's head off. Or bang my head against a wall.
Someone suggested I try carrots but I can't figure out how to light the damn fuckers. Oh well. Anyone else got any other words of advice, encouragement or abuse?