I think it would be more fun than quitting smoking.
Yes that's right, Strawberrysmum is an evil little smoker. Or, was. Up until yesterday.
Back on the patches again; and it seems harder each time.
Why do I not remember this completely unpleasant, crawling with bugs sensation?
Why will that voice in my head (ciggieciggieciggieciggieciggiecigge... come on, ciggie?) not SHUT the f*ck up? The patch is supposed to stop that, right?
Why does my mouth taste like ass?
Why did I do this to myself.... again?
Usually quite a lot of blame usually gets thrown the Tradie's way - living with a chain-smoker is bound to result in frequent relapses. No matter how saintly you've been, a fresh clean set of lungs causes temporary amnesia, and few glasses of chardonnay makes that ubiquitous packet sitting on the bench look mighty tempting. But I can't go on blaming him and making him a scapegoat forever.
His journey is his journey, and mine is mine, our choices are our own. And while I feverently hope he'll follow my example, I know from experience that forcing or trying to manipulate that particular outcome is futile.
I wish to god I could go back to 19 year old me and say: "Hun, put down that 1mg Dunhill. It's not cool, and you look like a dick. It's certainly not fun 15 years down the track when you have to stick that smelly thing in your face every two hours. Just don't even go there."
But hopefully I can do something even better than go back in time. I can set a good example for my own little girl.
So here I go again ... begone bugs, a fresh start awaits.
No comments:
Post a Comment