Last night (New Year’s Eve) I had ten cigarettes left, because I wasn’t smoking very much, and I had to decide what I wanted to do with them. Throw them away? Break them all into pieces? Smoke them all? I debated, but it was a stupid debate, since I knew I’d smoke them. I’m thrifty, and cigarettes are expensive, and I knew I would feel guilty about throwing them in the trash, as stupid as that sounds.

Chain smoking is harder than it used to be. I used to do it without a problem, but as I smoked one after another after another I felt terrible, and by the time I got to the last cigarette in the pack, I thought I might barf. But I smoked it anyway, leaning out of the window like I used to do in high school, my fingers freezing. It was 2:30 a.m., January 1. I went to bed, feeling dizzy and sick, and told myself to hang onto that feeling, that disgusting awful feeling, to remember it every time I wanted a cigarette in the future. Then I went to sleep.

I woke up this morning and my first thought was “I feel terrible.” My second thought was “I’ll feel better after a cup of coffee and a smoke.” My third thought was “Oh shit, I quit smoking.” It was a bad moment, and I felt stricken, as though I had just discovered that I was dying, so I had to stay in bed for awhile, getting used to the idea that when I did get up I would not be having a cigarette. I would not be having a cigarette then, or ever again. When I finally felt strong enough to face this reality, I got out of bed and did some stuff around the house. I had some of that nicotene gum, and I chewed a piece. I had some coffee. I watched the Rose Parade on TV. I thought about smoking every five minutes or so. I tried thinking about other things I’d stopped doing in the past, like drinking too much or calling that guy who didn’t really care about me all that much even though I was completely in love with him. How had I done it? Well, I’d just stopped, hadn’t I? Quit. Told myself no every time I wanted to say yes until I learned my new rules. And now I can go out and have a drink instead of ten. I don’t even know where that guy is anymore. (Quitting drinking was easier than quitting the guy, as it happens.) And if I could stop that behavior, I could stop this.

And really, other than the fact that I thought about smoking a lot, the physical cravings weren’t so terrible. They were there, but not unbearable. And yeah, I do have the gum (though I’m not chewing as much as the directions tell me to because I don’t want to end up addicted to that stuff next) but the physical craving isn’t so much for the nicotene itself, or I guess that’s what the gum is taking care of, but for everything else associated with the act of smoking a cigarette. I miss the feel of a ciagarette between my fingers. I miss the feel of the smoke as it fills my mouth, like a hot, dirty kiss you know is wrong, but you’ll be damned if it doesn’t leave you breathless and wanting more. I miss those things, mostly. But overall it’s not quite as terrible as I thought it would be. Though I guess it’s only been one day. We’ll see.