...And in other news. I quit smoking.
Now, before you all start in on that round of applause, please note for the record that I am not at all proud and/or happy about my new so-called life as a non-smoker. In fact I'm down right pissy about it.
Eventhough I rarely smoked more than 6 cigarettes a day, you gotta understand something: I loved those 6 ciggies! They were mine. Mine! Mine! Mine! In fact I love smoking. I love the smell of it. I love the feel of it. I love delicately rolling a freshly lit ciggie between my index and F-U finger and waving it around like a flaming wrath-of-god magic wand. And really, there's nothing like that sensation of hot poisoned air rushing into the depths of your lungs. Naturally there's only one thing in the world that would convince me to give it up all that: FrenchBoy.
About two weeks ago, on our way home from London, we were standing outside Gare de L'Est in Paris while I smoked a cigarette. Every minute or so, some shifty character would come by and ask us for spare change. (Anyone's who's spent time outside a Gare in Europe knows just how shifty-shady these characters can be.) After about 5 minutes of this, FrenchBoy and I were both fed-up. As I prematurely extinguished my smokey-treat, Frenchboy said something to the effect of "You should quit smoking." or maybe it was "I thought you said you were gonna quit smoking." Either way, given the company we were keeping at that very moment, it seemed like a really good idea...at the time. And since it was the last ciggie in the pack, I just decided to quit then and there. That said, if I had known in advance that the smoke outside the gare was to be my last ciggie, I would have savoured it. Or at least finished the damn thing instead of putting it out only half smoked.
*insert deep sigh here*
*insert deep sigh here*
So, two weeks sans-ciggies and I'm OK. I haven't tried to strangle anyone. In fact it's been easier than I thought it would be. I've been keeping myself insanely busy with work. Lots and lots of mind-frying paperwork. Oh, and audio books. It seems that the key to quitting smoking, at least for me, is to focus intensely on incredibly boring and repetitive tasks for hours on end. But whatever. It's working.
I have however gained 2 kilos in 2 weeks, so, it looks like I won't die of lung cancer after all. Instead I'll live forever as a fat-ass.