Update on Quitting, and Why I've Been Scarce

So, this was supposed to be the Big Weekend, where Chantix kicked in and I became a quitter. I should have remembered my body’s reaction to drugs: “So?” It shrugged off the half-milligram like it was nothing. When the dose upped to one milligram a few days later, still meh. And the urge to smoke was strong as ever – stronger, in some ways, because I know I’ll be giving it up soon, and damn it, I’ll miss it.

I had my first violent dream recently. I was trying to get a hotel room, and the clerk was being a complete jerkwad. Nasty, condescending, and a crook to boot, insulting me whilst trying to bilk me out of money. So I slapped him across the face. The little old ladies in the lobby heartily approved. I made a triumphant exit as he looked on in confusion. And that was that: the most violence I’ve experienced in a dream since starting this stuff. This is lame. It makes me fear the drugs won’t work. According to the horror stories, I’m supposed to be having all sorts of violent ideations. Instead, it’s mostly been a lot of geology field trips and a wee bit o’ erotica.

Saturday, the beginning of week 2, the dose went up to two milligrams daily. And I went walkies. We haven’t seen the sun here much for days. It peeked out briefly. I headed east toward the Cascades, ended up in Sultan briefly, acquainted myself with a few back roads, found a place that sells bamboo plants that I’ll have to investigate soon, and went back to Monroe to re-visit Al Borlin Park. I was last there in June 2011. It’s a bit different, now.

Skykomish River at Al Borlin Park, June 2011

The river then wasn’t at its highest, but was certainly vigorous, and had ripped bits off the bank. When I went back this July, the bank was boringly intact, and my first impression was “Holy fuck, look at all the gravel!”

Skykomish at Al Borlin Park, July 2012

Obviously, the river’s gone down, which I should have expected: summers here are fairly dry, although this one’s been full of enough rainy days to make me doubt we’re going to get our three months of summer this year. Still. Not complaining. It could be 100+ degrees and horrid humidity.

I also found a great mystery flower, which leaves me in a pickle, because there are about ten billion great mystery flowers from Marys Peak I still need to post. This one’s pretty neat, though, and I might skip ahead briefly. It was worth the mosquito bites I got taking it. Note to self: the next time you plan to do a river walk in July, either wear bug spray or don’t stop moving for an instant.

I went home. I meant to post. I got involved in some research, and read a paper that made my brain hurt quite a lot, and read a few other things trying to make sense of it, and by the end, with my brain aching and a purring felid on my legs, I decided a post could wait. Sorry.

So I meant to post something early Sunday, but I spent too many hours living my life through Chantix. It’s the kind of thing where I crack an eye open, decide I can snatch another hour, and go back to dreaming. Lots and lots of dreaming, mostly about geology, which is fun. Then when I finally rousted my lazy arse awake, I got up just long enough to wee and flopped back down to check the internets on the Kindle. This is when my homicidal felid decided to help me quit smoking. She curled up in a tight little ball on both my legs and stayed there, purring occasionally, for three hours.

I want you to understand something. I can never go three hours in the morning without a smoke. Never, ever. That cat would’ve been ejected after a half-hour, an hour at the outside, in the past, and to hell with the consequences. But Sunday, we stayed put together. I caught up on some reading, and then dipped back into the Ingersoll book I’m reading, and thought about diving back into some Serious Papers before deciding no, it’s Sunday and I’m feeling lazy, and I got the occasional “A cigarette would be nice” twinges but nothing that drove me to evict the cat. What did was that can of Coke I’d been drinking. Some urges even Chantix can’t stop, and that’s probably for the best, as I’ve heard bladders can explode.

By the time I was free to get to my computer, I was in full Lazy Sunday mode. Tonight has mostly been about Dumbucks who Make Rape Jokes and the Dumbfucks Who Defend Them, which I’ll have something to say about later, when I’ve thought of something Stephanie Zvan and the commenters at Pharyngula haven’t said better. Now I have to finally get some of that work done I promised myself I’d do.

Speaking of work, Evelyn’s beginning some. Wish her and Jackie well.

So, that’s the sit-rep. Looks like by the end of the week, I’ll have either cut back dramatically or quit smoking completely. Which is good. Because I may need to stop Chantix early so I don’t sleep the rest of the summer away…

Update on Quitting, and Why I've Been Scarce

9 thoughts on “Update on Quitting, and Why I've Been Scarce

  1. 1

    Take care of yourself and good luck with quitting. Keep at it and remember, even if you fail, you can always try quitting again. It took me 4 tries.

  2. 4

    I am so proud of you. I was on Chantix for only 2 months. I miss the dreams, but I have been smoke free for 95 days and 35 have been without the chantix.

  3. 5

    Was worried for a moment, but – smoking. I am totally cheering/rooting for you!

    “Not complaining. It could be 100+ degrees and horrid humidity.”

    Yeah, that’s pretty much what it’s like here. 6:30 am it’s 80 degrees and humid. Supposed to get 103 today.

  4. 7

    Great stuff, keep at it (though when you’ve succeeded you’ll need a new profile picture) and don’t neglect the self-reward every so often. Maybe every week you don’t give in, you buy yourself some Dr Who dvds, most of Pertwee’s stories are available, several of which have been re-coloured

  5. 8

    Good luck with the quitting Dana! We’re all rooting for you. And the homicidal kitty, as well.

    I was actually out that way Saturday myself, at a family reunion about five miles to the west!

  6. 9

    I was actually out that way Saturday myself, at a family reunion about five miles to the west!

    In which by “five mile to the west” I actually mean “five miles to the east”! Dang lousy sense of direction.

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