I might bite your head off

8 Jul

Last night Chris and I were outside smoking, and he says to me, so I think I’m really ready to quit smoking now. I say, oh yeah, why’s that? He says, well, you know my granddad died of emphysema (to which I nod), well, it’s just been weighing on me lately, you know? (I nod again, feeling increasingly like a large pile of shit for smoking). I knew. I’ve smoked since I was like 12. There was this girl, who I won’t name because I actually see her from time to time and she still scares the shit out of me, who made me smoke. I know what you’re thinking, yeah right, she made you, pfft. No, for real, it’s totally true. I was walking home after school and this titan of a girl grabbed my arm (I was scrawny and skinny when I was a kid), and was all, You smoke now. Don’t make me angry, you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry. Ok, so I’m not sure if that’s what she actually said, it could’ve been The Incredible Hulk, I’m not sure, but the point is she was ginormous and I was not. So she gave me a cigarette and showed me how to smoke and laughed when I coughed my head off after trying to inhale. A couple of weeks later, I thought I’d be really cool and try it again. So one day when my parents were at work, I stole my mom’s cigarettes. I couldn’t figure out how to use the lighter and I wasn’t allowed to play with matches (yes, I did follow SOME rules), so I stuck my head in the oven and lit the cigarette on the bottom burner. In hindsight, sticking your head in an oven probably isn’t a good idea, I could’ve just used a burner on top of the stove, or better yet, used a match, but I was 12, what do you want from me?

So I smoked off and on until I was about 16, then I just went bad. Very, very bad. I smoked, drank, did drugs, blew off school, dated guitar players, developed a permanent scowl (hence the wrinkle branded on my forehead), you name it. See then, back before political correctness/health awareness smoking was cool. I did quit when I was pregnant (at 19 mind you. I told you I was bad), but I had my friend wheel me across the street from the hospital to smoke. I know, I know, going outside in your hospital gown and wheelchair just isn’t cool . I don’t (and haven’t) smoked in my house in a long, long time, I do have some parental standards. About a year ago, I quit for a month. Then I got into the accident with my Jeep and almost had a nervous breakdown on the side of the road, so I started up again. I’ve been beating myself up about it ever since. So when Chris laid his guilt trip about oh, I love you, I want to grow old together, I don’t want you to die early, blah, blah. I was like, SIGH. Fine. I quit. So here I am, day 1. Armed with Nicorette and grape Bubble Yum quitting smoking. I hope for real this time, I hate smoking, but I know it’s time, and it’s for the best. Keep that in mind if I become an unbearable bitch and tell you all to go screw yourselves, which is entirely possible.

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