Waiting to inhale

This Friday will be one month since I quit smoking. I really can’t believe it’s been a month already. The cravings are gone, and what I am left with are basically urges; little, intense urges. I usually have one or two a day, and they don’t last very long at all, but they are powerful and the smoking memory is really is forceful.

The dreams are something else, too. When I was a smoker, I never had dreams where I was smoking in them. But now that I have quit, I have them all the time, and the shame I feel in the dream is so real that when I wake up I think to myself “Aww – why did I smoke?” and it takes me a second or two to realize it was a dream. But one of the most curious things that I have discovered about smoking – or not smoking – is that when you are a smoker, the act of waiting is always an opportunity to smoke. It’s a happy little discovery. Waiting for a friend outside a coffee shop? Light up. Ten minutes early for an appointment? Light up. Waiting for a co-worker to get off the phone so you can talk to him? Go downstairs and light up. Now, I know former smokers who swear that the act of getting in the car flips their smoke switch, but the car has been a piece of cake for me. The waiting has been excruciating. It’s a huge trigger for me. This is where gum is my lifesaver. Without gum, I couldn’t wait for anything or anybody.

So I tip my hat to you Wrigley’s. Without you, I’d have to make sure I was always perfectly on time, and that ain’t never gonna happen.