I'm f**king PISSED!

Man, I cannot imagine what it would be like without nicotine replacement products.

Like all smokers, I've experienced irritability when going on a stretch without a smoke. But it seems to be getting worse.

Here in week 2 of cig' abstinence, I'm finding myself stricken suddenly with pangs of anger. Out of nowhere, I will snap into an extremely irritable state. I will ruthlessly curse some absent scapegoat; invoking unforgivable, descriptive names for whoever has virtually stepped in my path.

For example, at work I may receive an email from someone. The message may contain an attachment that I am expected to do something with. If there is something wrong with the attachment, or I experience the slightest detail, I haul off in a rage of epithets. "You....f**king...A**hole! God damn your heart and soul to Hell, you f**king piece of sh*t!!!!" But it gets worse, or better depending how you look at it; much more harsh criticism / more creative insults.

Luckily, I suppress the urge to hit the reply button and start typing! I settle for muttering these things to myself, like Popeye the Sailor. But occasionally, my volume rises, and body gestures grow convulsed and more indicative of a volatile state.

I do sometimes wonder how far and clear my voice carries when I am in the throes of such spells of irritability; if any of the words hissing through my teeth were discernible by a coworker - especially a female - I could be fingered for "creating a hostile work environment."

Obviously, if I wasn't able to catch myself from actually directing my words at a present human being, I would lose my job on the spot. I really have to be careful.

So, for those people I hear about that quit "cold turkey," I salute you. Because for myself, being caught without some form of nicotine replacement at this point could land me in jail for assault, or the hospital for an assault that I provoked (via my own verbal assault) upon myself!

The Impulse points just keep comin' (movies & relatives)

I'm one day shy of 2 weeks without smoking. But The Impulse points keep coming. I'm still walking into scenarios in which my body is accustomed to lighting up, and it sucker punches me, still, each time.

I went to the movies for the first time since quitting, and I would always have to suck down a cig before entering and getting my ticket ripped. (It just occurred to me what a bummer it must be for whoever is stuck sitting next to my smoke-stinkey ass in the theatre!). After 2 hours, give or take, it was always so good to spark one up immediately after emerging from the theatre.

Man, I can taste/smell/feel it now!

There is this bogus feeling of having earned it by having sat so patiently for an entire movie stifling the urge to smoke; almost as if one were the hero of the movie, and deserves the reward afterward.

Also for the first time since quiting, I went to a modest family gathering. There, the norm was for a brother and I to regularly step out to the back porch for one-on-one conversation over a smoke (which he would refer to as a union meeting).

Now in both of these situations, I was not tempted to smoke by seeing and smelling others doing so; People milling about outside the theatre, puffing away, or my brother doing so next to me.

No, it was The Impulse; the physiological/psychological association of my body chemistry with those times, those sequences of events. It was an ingrained, programmed routine, in which smoking was an intregal part of -- even if these events came along every 3 months or so, rather than on a daily basis.


Another note on the cinema experience: Once a movie starts, I never get up to leave to do anything, if I can possibly help it. Not to pee, not to smoke, not to get a snack or drink. Although I did miss a climactic scene of the last Indiana Jones movie, because I had to piss so bad, it was physically painful to keep holding it. I really didn't want to leave the theatre, but it was a genuine emergency. And the movie kinda sucked anyway, so I didn't feel bad about missing the scene for more than a few minutes afterwards.

Anyway, since this was the first time going to the movies since I quit, or rather, the first time I went since I started my new habit of using nicotine lozenges, I did not prepare. It should have been easy, but I just didn't take it seriously enough.

All I needed to do was bring in some kind of cup to spit the nicotine teeming saliva accumulation into. This is a regular part of the process of ingesting the lozenges, so I knew a cup would come in handy.

But, ya know, it just seemed like a hassle. Where would I get a cup? I had a soda from a nearby restaurant, but they prohibited me from taking it into the theatre. So, then I could go ask for one at the consession stand. But then, I'd have to wait in line, which are usually long, only to have to explain that I only need an empty cup. This would spark the suspicion that I would be trying to obtain an empty cup for free, only to return for a "refill" to get a free soda. I don't want to pay for the damn cup. I imagine that the coorporate accounting department figures an amount to charge for an empty cup based on the frequency of soda sold, compared to soda inventory, etc. blah blah blah. I just didn't want to deal with it.

And, I certainly am not going to pick one out of the trash. It really wouldn't matter, because I would be spitting into the cup, rather than drinking out of it. But then, my lips often do touch whatever cup I take on as a disposable spitoon. And besides, why gross out my female companion more than I already do by this basic process?

So...I said "f**k it," and enjoyed the movie, and held out on popping in a lozenge as long as I felt comfortable doing so. Of course, I gave in about 3/4-the-way-through. I inserted one in my mouth, and stifled the urge to swallow as my mouth began teeming with the familiar foamy, saliva/nicotine juice.

Of course, the movie went on longer than I anticipated. A few times when I thought the credits would roll, a forgotten enemy would suprise attack, or another sub-epilogue would begin. My mouth was filling up to the point where my cheeks would be visibly puffed out, were the house lights to kick on.

The only alternative to holding it in was to eject the voluminous gob from my mouth onto the floor of the theatre. The theatre was scantily occupied, and the entire rest of the row to my left, including the row fore and aft, were unoccupied, so I could certainly get away with it unnoticed. But my conscience prevented me.

I figured on the way out I could spit it out in a trash can, but then, I didn't want anyone to see me, like my fellow exiting moviegoers, or the cleanup guy standing right next to the trash can. I would just feel like an a**hole. So, I figured it could wait until I got to the bathroom.

My wife made a joking speculation about the title of a possible sequel to the movie, and I instantly formed a title of my own in an attempted one-up reponse. But, if I opened my mouth to speak it, I would have gone Cujo and made an embarrassing, disgusting mess all over the front of my clothes, chin to toe.

So my little joke had to wait, as I gestured to her with a raised finger and inflated cheeks, that I must hold my tongue.

After the walk from the aisle, to the hall, to the big hall, to the bathroom, peeing, relinquishing my foamy burden, and rejoining her in the hall, the potency of my joke diminished significantly.

I told her my joke sequel title, but after the wait, both of us silently agreed that I had not one-upped hers.

---

On a serious note:

Luckily, my wife tolerates the unsavory, attendant idiosyncrasies of nicotine lozenge use. To do so, one must keep in mind that it is for the greater, long term good.

Watching one's betrothed spitting mouthfuls of foam on a regular basis for a couple/few months becomes quite tolerable compared to the concept of becoming a lung cancer widow in one's, say, 50's.

What do old folks say?

I haven't exactly interviewed any senior citizens on the subject of nicotine addiction, but a few recent paraphrases come to mind.

A colleague's father said that it took him about a year of not smoking for the cravings to subside.

A male in-law said to me, "Ya know, I've had to quit aloooot o' things, but smokin' was the hardest one."

An elderly female co-worker was once small-talking about smoking and quitting. I don't remember what was said, but I do remember her concluding resignedly with something to the effect of, "Oh, I'm never going to quit, who am I kidding" as if it was way too late in life for her to do such a hurculean feat.

Funny thing is, when I informed the same lady that I hadn't smoked in over a week, she said she quit a couple of years ago. I asked her how she did it, and she said she just woke up one day without the desire to smoke! She said, "If I was to smoke, I would be forcing something, so why force it?" She hasn't smoked since.

Now that is amazing. I wish I could wake up like that.

Nicotine replacement therapy, part 3

So, I did a rough tally, and it seems that my nicotine lozenges cost about as much as it would if I were still smoking the cigs.

Of course, I have to look for the deals, such as the aforementioned eBay score.

Also, I ran out of the free samples the doctor gave me, while still awaiting deliver of the eBay goods, forcing me to seek out an in-store bargain.

I decided upon a generic equivalent at a local chain pharmacy. It was about $8 cheaper than the name brand version, and offered a $10 rebate in the form of (limited) store credit. The cashier informed me that it would not apply toward prescriptions, alcohol or tobacco. He added that the latter was not a problem, to which I answered, "Hopefully, yeah!"

Oh, the Smells!

I hadn't really noticed the loss of my sense of smell.

I could still smell the general fresh and foul odors my environment offers. But, in the time since my last* cigarette, I've noticed more smells than before. I'm told the sense of smell returns after quitting, and I'm finding that. Except that...it's not pretty.

I seem to only notice all the foul subtleties. New wisps of aroma in the bathroom; stale, musty, mildewy smells, as well as used products in the trash can. It's difficult to welcome it all back.

Also, returning with a vengeance, are the variety of odors caused by the act of smoking cigarettes itself. Friends and strangers with their clothes and hair reeking from just having come indoors after a smoke break. Ash trays, and their stale malodor, rooms and cars where the no smoking light has been off for some years and their deeply ingrained, stagnant funk. Even my own car smells different. Before, it smelled smoky to varying degrees, depending on how recently I smoked in it, how low the windows were rolled down, etc. But now, it's this stale, stagnant, ancient smell. Smells like permanent damage.

I am sure in due time, this advent into the olfactory realm with provide some pleasure eventually.

But, like just about every other aspect of life when one is trying to quit: it sucks.

--
* By last, I hopefully mean last as in final, not last as in previous.

Nicotine replacement therapy, part 2

I forgot to mention one thing about the gum and lozenges: that sh*t is expensive!

But then, I haven't exactly done the math to compare to the cost of cigarettes, and hey! cigarettes are f**in*' expensive too!

I hooked up some lozenges on eBay, but for some reason I feel a little uneasy about ordering ingestibles from there...

Oh, the stains!

Hey, smokers: Have you ever sat in your car and looked up?


[click to see larger image in new tab/window]

I don't recommend doing this while you are driving, nor if you don't want yet another reason to quit smoking.

Nicotine replacement therapy

I have not tried "the patch." But I have used nicotine gum. Not to quit, but to keep from going insane on long airplane flights, and in certain situations where I knew beforehand I would be in for long hours unable to sneak away for a smoke.

I am using the nicotine lozenges in my current attempt to quit. They come in 2 strengths: 2mg and 4mg. Guess which one I need.

The determining question put forth to determine the dosage one needs is: "Do you usually light up within 30 minutes of waking up in the morning?"

Do I really need to tell you the answer?

The thing that sucks about the gum and the lozenges is that they share a stipulation with chewing tobacco, plug, etc. This regards swallowing.

It seems like common sense to avoid swallowing any of the items mentioned above. But just the mere swallowing of the saliva that normally accumulates in the mouth is warned against.

With actual chewing tobacco, you will suffer instant nausea and most likely vomit if you swallow a reasonable amount of your own saliva teaming with the juices. (I did this once, despite fair warning, but that story is for a later post.)

But with the gum and lozenges, swallowing is discouraged as well. With those, one experiences a burning indigestion right away. The gum even made me belch more than usual. It made one-guy-I-know's stomach bleed/spit up little bits of blood. I seem to remember having tiny traces of blood in my spit in the midst of using alot of the gum on a weekend plane trip.

So here I am accumulating gobs of foamy saliva in my mouth, waiting for a chance when I can spit it out unobserved. Just like the hicks and baseball players at my high school who would "dip" in class. (more on that in another post, as well).

I spit some in the side of the street, in a length of puddled water moting the curb. A local dog soon approached, sniffed the foam in the water and set to lap it up before I shoo'd it away. I shuddered to the think it's adoring owner would see and understand what was happening and forever look at me as a careless poisoner of pets.

Indoors, I must tack between sinks, trashcans, empty soda cans, or disposable cups.

It's embarrassing when caught between spitting outlets for a time, and then being engaged in conversation by someone who isn't aware, nor would be sympathetic, to what is going on. I can only hope to breeze through it with 1 or 2 "mhmm"s.

Worse yet, a loved one actually picked up a disposable plastic cup I had on a the desk that I had been using as one of my temporary spitoons. Wide eyed, I yelped, "DON'T!" She thought it was milk, which would have been perfect to wash the chocolate candy she just ate. Embarrassing. Again.

So I feel like I've traded one disgusting habit for another. Obviously, the long term benefits of this far outweigh this short term situation.

That is, of course, if I ever actually do wean off the replacement products. After all, it's still nicotine.

Some experiences with Dutch hand-rolling tobacco, Part 2

Another thing about rolling my own cigarettes was the stains.

Having no filters, these cowboy-style cigs left my index and f.u. finger stained yellow/gold/orange. Very difficult to wash off. And of course, with the stain is the smell. Even the romance of relating to the protagonist in The Wall, by way of mental audio of the voice of Roger Waters' Dylanesque talk-singing the line, "I've got nicotine stains on my fingers," from Nobody Home didn't make me feel any better about it.

I worked tending a shop, mostly by myself, on a college campus. I would smoke the ol' handrolled shag outside on my break. Awhile after returning, a customer came in, and was apparently prompted to comment by the overwhelming stench that clung and emitted from my body, hair and clothing.

He sniffed the air, wrinkled his brow and asked via statement of assumption, "They allow you to smoke in here?"

I reeked, and made my surroundings reek as well, depite that I smoked outside the building. Disgusted as I was with myself, many such humiliations couldn't stop me.

More on The Impulse

In the first week of smoking abstinence, I was faced with regularly renewed horror at many points in each morning, day and night. The horror is sustained during periods in which I would normally be lighting up in frequent succession, such as in the car on weekend morning errands, revolving around acquiring and consuming a highly caffeinated bevarage.

Simple tasks during such outings became a scatterbrained, nervous undertaking, requiring herculean effort of concentration. I almost ran a red light, and stopped suspiciously soon at another, both incidents with a cop in close proximity.

Some experiences with Dutch hand-rolling tobacco, Part 1

Mmmmmm.....

I can taste it. Smell it. Feel it.

A certain brand of Dutch handrolling tobacco, or "shag". (No brands mentioned here - they ain't paying me to advertise)

I preferred the light version, which wasn't as widely available. The regular, popular strength was too much for me to handle in the frequency in which I smoked, especially since you roll it yourself. I realized later that filters were available that you could roll into them, but it seems like too much of a pain in the arse.

A lot of people go for the packs of loose tobacco claiming that it's cheap to roll your own. I don't know about that. Maybe if you buy those cans of that throat scorching stuff. I do know you always run out of rolling papers and have to buy more. A lot of them tear during rolling, or get used or borrowed for...other things.

But, besides being cheaper, I used to tell myself that hand rolling would slow down my intake. The process would make it more difficult to light up in the car. Taking the time to meticulously roll up a fag would kill a few precious moments of the day that would add up and somehow bump a cig or 2 out of my daily intake.

Ah, the self delusion of the hopeless smoker.

I got so good at hand rolling, that I could do it while driving. I got as good and fast at it as I did sitting still. People told me about professional stoners who gained enough experience points to be able to roll a joint with one hand. Well, I always needed two hands for this, but still, very fast and accurate. I think I would do the actual pinch-rolling with one hand, but the prepacking and the post licking require two hands. The forearms pressed against the steering wheel, which actually provided more stable steering than the 1 hand of said pro-stoners.

I recall rolling one while driving and changing lanes on a sharp turning freeway offramp, leading onto a steep and trafficky bridge. Doesn't sound as dangerous here, but I remember being impressed with myself.

Another memory I have from the same offramp and bridge was having a coughing fit. I coughed and hacked uncontrollably. The thing about the smoker's cough is that you cough and cough, until enough phlegm gets into a certain area of the throat, causing you to gag.

This fit was so hard that I coughed until I gagged and gagged until I threw up. While driving.
Now I can't remember if I a) puked a little on my jacket and had to take it off, b) puked on my lap and had to borrow some shorts and possibly a shirt from my buddies whom I was on my way to visit. or c) puked and filled my own mouth, and was forced to swallow the disgusting bile flavored vomit.

I'm convinced it was b).

The Impulse

The Impulse.

That's the sudden jolt in the mind; the millisecond of unconscious, "Oh yeah! Time for a smoke!"

For the hardcore smoker, this comes just about every waking moment that one is not actually inhaling smoke from the business end of a cigarette.

When abstaining from smoking, there is no letting down one's guard. The impulse comes constantly. One is reminded at every turn of when one used to light up. Not once, but over and over.

It goes kinda like this:

Ding! The impulse pokes. It doesn't go 'ding;' it's silent. But you feel it. It's like the scene in The Empire Strikes Back, when Lando punches in a code on his calculator watch. Cut to a face shot of Lobot opening his eyes in a sudden jolt, being called into action by remote.
So you feel the Impulse. Then you think, ah, that's right; I always reach for the pack as I'm heading for the door to the outside at this time, morning break at work. Nope, you can't do it! You quit, remember? Oh, yeah. And I don't have a pack of cigs in my pocket anyway. Nor a lighter...DING! Immediately after telling oneself this, The Impulse jolts again!

Immediately.

And this happens over and over, all day long, at every turn.

Even with a freshly dissolving nicotine lozenge on one's wet tongue.

There's only one cure...

...for nicotine addiction.

Death.

That's what I said for a long time, after I found out I was snared. Well, awhile after that, when I found out, oh, wait, I'm not snared, I'm chained. Or cemented.

For over a decade, just about every day, I have told myself, "Man, I've got to quit smoking."

I've been smoking for just about 2 decades now.

In this blog you'll hear about a hopeless fiend trying to quit and some ugly stories from the life of a disgusting, hopeless, smelly, black-lunged loser.