Day 5 -afternoon

It's not too bad. I have moments of bleakness. Moments when I can't quite imagine what I'll DO when I'm not smoking. But at the same time it's like cycling through hills. Although it's hard on the way up, there is a certain satisfaction too.

Day 5 - after the Cuban

OK, so things are back on track after a hairy day yesterday. I took a Cuban cigar with me to the birthday drinkathon and that helped but it's not really ideal.

I met AT earlier in the pub and I found that drinking Guiness was good as it's more like eating than drinking and I didn't particularly associate it with smoking (unlike wine or spirits.)

Anyway, I don't know what the Cuban has done to my detox timescale, but there's nothing to do but press on.

Day 4 - evening

Time drags. I'm made of paper. I can't keep chewing. The hunger never stops. What do I want? What do I really want?

The only thing that keeps me sane is imagining smoking and realising I don't really want to.

DAY 4 - AFTERNOON PART 3

AAAARGGHHHHHH!!!!!
It's relentless. I need to step outside and the voice keeps saying 'have a fag, have a fag.'

Smoking feels like the most natural normal thing in the world. I remember nothing. I know today is thew crisis day. I must be strong.

AAARRGGHHH! (again.)

Day 4 - afternoon - part 2

Wow. That devil on my shoulder won't let up. I'm just about hanging in there, but it's REALLY tough. I think this is just a particular crisis though.

It feels like cupcakes in my oesophagus. Stuffy. Gooey. It's tropical in this office too whuch doesn't help.

Day 4 - afternoon

Day 4 is a bitch. The void is back. Far from having changed my habits I keep thinking 'Right, time to pop out for a quick fag.' Worse, I can't remember any of the reasons not to smoke. I mean I CAN if I try, but my resolve feels like a worn piece of rubber and if I stretch it any thinner it will burst.

I imagine smoking and my lungs sigh in ecstasy. Give us the lovely soft curly smoke. Fill us up and save us from this gloom.

Stupid lungs.

Day 4 - after lunch

very busy today. Just needed to post quickly to say that the 4th day is actually the hardest.

The novelty has worn off. The epic struggle is now replaced by the constant tedium. I have forgotten my reasons for not smoking.

The orange cloud rises again and fills my body with baby spiders.

Damn you 4th day. Damn you.

Day 4 - morning

WEll the problem with early to bed is it's made me early to rise. Wide awake at 6.30 am. And I appear to have hayfever which I'm not really digging.

Feverish dreams of smoking. I was with a bunch of people who were restoring old Amicus horror films. Non-smokers suddenly started puffing away and I ended up full of smoke and regret.

Still struggling with the boredom. Instread of smoking I'm going to do last night's washing up.

Day 3 - and so to bed

Lots of twinges. Quite irritable during the evening. Wife annoyed me by measuring a room. Son was roundly condemned for having a cold. Not entirely reasonable. But then I wasn't exactly the poster boy for reasonableness beforehand.

Anyway, it's the habit I'm missing now. The physical part is really not so bad now. But although it's less painful the psychological addiction is in some ways the hardest. I won't even have the withdrawal delirium to keep me occupied

So early night. Keeps me out of trouble.

Day 3 - evening - part 2

Hot baths really do the trick. Had a quick pang afterwards. Imagining smoking and cooking. The two shouldn't really go together, but for me they always did. Sp I came here to the blog instead. And it's good. The desire to smoke has now shifted to a thirst for fruit juice or something. This is surprising but welcome.

Physically, there's a kitten in my chest, but I think it's sleeping and it's not causing me too many problems. Good kitty.

Right - onwards and juicewards.

Day 3 - evening

Home again. The afternoon flew past. Went out for a decaf but didn't even have a pastry. Felt very righteous.

Walked through the front door to the sounds of yelling tonight. Quite justified actually. Daughter had spilt milk everywhere. She flouted conventional wisdom and stood by the white puddle sobbing.

Wife went off to yoga and I snacked rather unrestrainedly. Saucisson, bread, cheese. I know I was stuffing my face but it felt more sophisticated than a bag of Wotsits.

The physical pangs have diminished a lot. It's quiet in my lungs. Too quiet. I feel very vulnerable to starting again out of sheer boredom rather than any craving.

Tomorrow will be a challenge. I'm going to a birthday drink for BD. He says he's giving up on Saturday but that won't help me tomorrow. Alcohol will spell the end of resolve. I think I'll have to resort to the Cuban. I can't see another way.

day 3 - after lunch

Bit of a wobble after my big pastrami sandwich. A heated discussion didn't help. But, I've managed to get through it. Yayy me. Right now I have a small mudhole bubbliong and slurping in my chest and my jaws are tired from chewing.

Life is a bit boring without cigarettes. Constant fear and chest pains were certainly interesting. I do worry about an eternity of not smoking. Oh well, one day at a time and all that.

Day 3 - Mid morning - part 2

A vile furry beast with teeth rises and chews up my insides. Talking to people is like banging your head against a wall. A wall that's covered with spikes.

Hot poison runs through my veins. It's almost exhilerating. The sweats begin again and there's madness in my eyes. The clammy hand of addiction has me by the neck but despite the torments I think I'm laughing because I know his tricks and how to beat them.

Day 3 - Mid morning

A good morning after a bad night. Things were going really well until a shocking argument with lovely wife just before lights out. I slammed lots of doors which was fun.

Everything was better this morning. I've been too busy too blog. I've been dimly aware of a runsty razor scraping an old bath tub but I haven't had time to focus on it.

A little hungry.

Day 2 - nighttime

I could never smoke during the Apprentice anyway. The whole thing always makes me too tense. When I smoked I wouyld feel my arteries hardening. Really wanted one afterwards though, but it passed. I can't believe he didn't fire Saira.

Tonight I found some supportive comments on this blog. Unbelievable! Thanks! It was really gratifying.

It's definitely getting better.

Day 2 - evening

Home again. Deep breathing as I entered the house. Haven't yelled at anyone yet (which would be unusual even ifI was smoking).

I was very hollow when I came in and I must confess to a certain amount of snacking. Bread and saucisson. Very nice as it happens. Glass of fruit juice so feeling in rather rude health as I write this.

There's yelling in the distance. I am blissfully in another room. Still I must go and bathe the children. The fog rises in the chest at the thought of it.

'Who'd have thought the old man had so much smoke in him.'

Day 2 - end of work day

Not bad. Occasional hot flushes and hungry chest cavities. A certain amount of irritability. Of course you never know if it's the smoking or if things really are irritating.

Still slightly yearning, like for a lost love. A cigarette dressed in black keeps a lonely vigil above the clashing waves and angry cliffs.

Orange Fisher Price tubes in my lungs. And an apple in the sternum.

Day 2 - Afternoon

No rest for the wicked. Been very busy. Survived a big lunch in a smoky restaurant. Temptation all around - just the sight of ashtrays weakened my resolve. But I pulled through. Avoiding alcohol was a big factor.

Now just had a v. long and intense meeting. Gasping at the end of it.

Starfish in chest. Sweating lard. Acme 10 ton weight pressing on ribcage. Shallow breathing. Existential angst. Cotton wool ball in stomach. Not unpleasant. A bit fluffy.

Morning - part 2

Went out for a coffee (decaf obviously or else I'd explode). Nice pain au chocolat. It was alright. received two phonecalls and inevitably wanted to smoke after (and during) both of them, but aside from a general constricted feeling it's not so bad.

Symptoms as follows: concrete in my chest (which surprised me). And a feeling of nothingness.

Day 2 - Morning

Everything was good on the home front. A good night's sleep. Wife and I in self-righteous glow of health this morning. According to wife's chart, CO is leaving our bodies. I don't know what CO is but apparently I'm better off without it.

Been very busy at work so haven't had a chance to post. I was quite testy this morning and poured scorn on several emails we'd received overnight. I'm OK now. The hardest thing is still that constant 'remembering' that you can't pop out for a quick smoke. Not to trivialise anyone's grief but it's almost like a bereavement.

'Alas poor Marlboro'.

This morning as I was walking (and chewing gum frantically) I found myself bothered by the loss of identification with Paul Simon's line 'so we bought a pack of cigarettes' in 'Homeward Bound'. Then I realised that was slightly absurd. Nonetheless it's a large part of what bothers me. More on this another time.

Quite hungry now. And I think I mighbt be devloping gills. Still have that bacon taste. Which in turn just makes me more hungry.

Evening -part 3

Well the bath helped, although I did end up spending a lot of time plotting against my 'enemies'.

Right now is that horrible moment where I impossibly want to smoke and also to NOT smoke. I've suffered enough to not want to turn back while at the same time I'D REALLY LIKE TO INHALE A BIG BURNING STICK OF TOBACCO!!!!!

This dilemma has been at the heart of all my previous attempts / failures.

Evening - part 2

Slightly more under control now. Giving up smoking is great if you ever one to find out just how nerve scrapingly irritating the people around you are.

At the moment I'm in the pit of despair, but I do question why I would want to be addicted to something that gave me such violent rages when I'm deprived of it. At least crack or smack are supposed to pleasurable in and of themselves.

Right now there's a bird's nest in my throat and only smoke will clear it out. I swallow it and feel the amber hardening in my lungs.

Off to take a bath now. I used to smoke in the bath, but I haven't done that for a long time so that should be one place that I don't obsess about cigarettes.

Evening

It's not going well. I hate everyone. The family are annoying. I can hear the voices of neighbourhood cretins floating through the air. Why are their voices so stupid? Why can they only communicate in animalistic bellowing?

People. Disgusting.

End of work day

Well I made it this far. I'm still sweating bacon but apart from that it's going to be ok. Now comes the hard part - HOME! I don't know how I'm going to cope. It's a stressful environment. Just thinking about it puts the squirrel back in my chest. maybe I can write it out on this blog. I just don't know what to look forward to by way of compensation. Must make a nice meal. Relaxing bath. Scrape lungs with melon baller.

Something.

Afternoon - part 3

The cravings are constant now - whenever I stop what I'm doing. The sweats have started too. There's a hungry caterpillar in my chest and he wants his hookah.

Die maggot! Die! Foul worm of dependency in the apple of my free will. The withdrawal is making me very fanciful.

Empty empty empty a hungry absence that fills and empties all at once.

Afternoon - part 2

OK. I'm seriously considering going outside and begging for a cigarette from a stranger. Or buying some. Or finding a half smoked one in the gutter. It's not the giving up that's hard... IT'S THE NEVER SMOKING AGAIN. I'm also experiencing a constant taste of bacon in the corner of my mouth. It's not unpleasant.

Just need to get through this moment. One day at a time and all that. Dullness. Not even an interesting craving now. Just fuzzy headed and the taste of bacon. Boiled eggs for eyes. Not even wanting a cigarette as such. Wanting nothing. A diamond shaped patch of rough in between my chest aand stomach. Brooding. Pulsing. Drawing black tar from my veins with sticky hands and fetid fingers. In some ways it's quite cute. Good little addiction. Will it scream when it dies? A field of corn sways in the breeze of my brain. All is well. Or at least not terrible. Over confidence leads to a seagull in the gut and a small blaze in the chest.

And now my head is being crushed between a giant's burly thumbs. How novel.

Day One - Afternoon

So I made it through the meeting. Occasionally my head swam, but it was fundamentally OK. Luckily my fellow meetees didn't smoke or I don't know what wqould have happened. Well, actually I do. I would have said, 'Can I have one of your cigarettes please?' And then I would have smoked about 15.

So right now, things are OK. Concentration is an issue. And there are metal bands around my head, though to be fair they're fairly supple. There's a slight heaviness to everything as if gravity had increased.

And the constant gnawing at the bars of my cage of hollow misery.

Other than that things are looking good.

Soon I'll start posting my handy tips on how to actually give up.

Day One - Morning Part 2

Well, actually, the attack passed before I even got to the blog. It wasn't too bad. Something to do with a ribcage full of bees.

I am a little concerned because I've shortly got to leave for a meeting (sudden vision of finishing writing a novel and not being able to smoke and what's the point of writing a novel in the first place if you can't smoke a cigarette when you've just written a really good bit. The wrirly [no idea what that words means.- D.] tendrils are closing in - creeping round my lungs like ivy or triffids or something worse. There's a ball off string in my chest and for some reason it's spinning very fast.

OK. Getting better, though apparently there's still a hamster or something similarly furry in my chest.

Anyway, I'm worried about this meeting. Long smokeless walk there. Long smokeless walk back. Big mushroom starting to grow in my temple and small rebellion beginning in my sinuses. Need something to do while walking. I'm in Soho so breathing in the fresh air isn't quite going to cut it. Memories of Denis Leary for some reason. I don't even like Denis Leary. Well I liked his first special but that was a long time ago. I bet he doesn't even smoke anymore. And even if he does, does that mean I have to? How come he gets to smoke and I don't? Stupid Denis Leary. Andrea Dworkin died today. I don't know if she smoked. She had weight problems. I mean, from a health standpoint. Not from an 'idealized view of female beauty' standpoint. I mean that her knees couldn't support her weight. Is that what a non-smoking mcmuffin eating future holds for me?

There's something gaseous in my chest. It grows and waits. Oh God, the hunger. I'll eat something on my way to that meeting. Like maybe a small pig. Lungs have given up. They don't see the point of breathing smokeless air. And I'm inclined to agree with them.

The chest cavity is like a dull constant nagging now. A bit like the wife. Ha Ha. I wonder how she's getting on...

Day One - Morning

So I've given up smoking. Yayy! This blog is going to be my place for psychotic ramblings during the whole detox period. I'm also hoping to turn it into a best-selling self-help book. After all, what could be better than a 'stop smoking' book written by someone while they've stopped smoking.

The first step to stopping smoking is to try and almost smoke yourself to death the night before you quit. This is very importnat as it allows you to think 'My God, smoking is really rather unpleasant. I'm so glad I don'y have to do it anymore.' So I stayed up smoking and playing GTA: San Andreas till 3am which I thought was a very mature approach to the whole business. I think I managed to reduce my lung capacity to about 10% which felt about right - who needs lungs if you're not going to smoke?

This morning got off to a flying start. I overslept. And then the lovely wife, who has also given up, and who instigated this whole sorry mess, rather than wake me up, decided to let me continue oversleeping and then be in a coldly simmering rage when I did finally get up. (I nearly wrote give up there - see how the feverish mind works!)

Anyway, we got through the morning without killing each other (though it was a close run thing for the children!) and now I'm at work. I allowed myself a sausage and egg Mcmuffin on the way in which was rather delicious. I am likely to gain weight during this whole adventure so the next blog will be 'Defeating the Legions of Obesity.'

So far so good. The only really difficult thing is that everytime I finish a sentence I feel popping out for a fag and then I remember that I can't have one and that is, frankly, a little annoying.

Right now I feel a little sponge in my chest. It's not unplesant but it's just sitting there, waiting. It wants something. I know what it wants. But it can't have it. I don't trust it. It's up to something. A warm feeling, like honey, is spreading across my chest only to be replaced with the great hollow emptiness of complete nothingness. Now there's a silver lozenge running from my throat to my lungs - hovering, shimmering, dipped in wax and trembling like a plucked string. The creature is in his cave, gnawing on a traveller's foot with yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness as he chuckles and chomps and waits for his next attack.

OK. I think I'll try some work. See how that goes.