Three-and-a-half years after I quit smoking, I was curious to see what having a smoker in my home would be like. Remember my sister Texas, who recently came to visit?
She smokes. And I'm sure some of you are thinking, "Didn't you ask her not to smoke in your home?"
And no; no, I didn't. After smoking myself for thirty flippin' years, asking another smoker not to smoke in my home would be being an a**hole.
So! I grabbed my old ashtrays, which made the move to this house with me (just in case, dontcha know), out of the far corner of a kitchen cabinet, battened down the hatches, and prepared to be tempted to smoke again.
And I can honestly say I didn't want to smoke at all.
Oh, I was fairly sure that was how it would be. When I quit, after all, even though it was during one of the most chaotic times of my life, I QUIT. I had a hard time the first few months, not because I wanted a cigarette so badly, but just because I was so damn EMOTIONAL, but honestly? It was like a switch was flipped. I quit when I had four-and-a-half cartons of cigs in my house. I just ... stopped.
In case anyone's wondering what particular method I used: Cold turkey. With the help of this book.
Done is done.