It’s Wednesday. Which means tomorrow is Thursday (duh). Which has always been the “beginning” of the weekend for me. I love gettin’ my swerve on, on a Thursday night. That tradition started back in college, and continues to this day.
But at this Thursday approaches, I’ve felt a sense of dread. I’ve been tense and twitchy. I went to the gym and got on the elliptical for 50 minutes, and THAT didn’t even help. I mean, it helped my fitness, but didn’t help my mood.
I’m angry. And maybe a bit of a spoiled brat here. But whatev. My blog, my rules.
Tomorrow (and for the pretty much foreseeable future after that), I don’t get to smoke. (WAAAAAH.)
The fiance has decided to finally to lay down the law. He’s been lenient, because he’d been smoking WAY longer than I had, then quit for 2 years, then started back up again, and has been (mostly) smoke-free since January. He’s now able to be that guy who smokes one cig at the bar every once in a while.
He decided that since I was turning 35, it was time for me to stop. The health risks increase, and he wants to keep me around for a long time (cue the “AWWWWWW” here). So I haven’t had a cigarette since August 1st. Whee, a whole whopping4 days.
Now here’s the thing…I only started smoking when I was…27? 28? I was living in Hatfield, PA at the time. By myself. And I was in the thinnest I’d been in my adult life, thanks to the multitude of Pro-Ana and Pro-Mia websites out there. Many of which touted smoking as a way to curb your appetite. So I gave it a go. Should I have known better? Yes. Did I care? Obviously not. As for the curbing-appetite thing…sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.
Fact of the matter is, I was living in the sticks, a Philly suburb with no friends within miles. I didn’t have any friends in the COUNTY, let alone the town I lived in. Nothing to do. So I smoked. Eventually I was up to a pack a day. Gave me something to do while I was drinking Malibu and Diets, and chatting with friends online – wow, I sound so fucking cool, it’s unbelievable! It relieved boredom, and it relieved stress.
Over the years, my amount of smoking has increased and decreased, increased and decreased. More recently, I stopped (for the most part) smoking at work, in the car, or at the house. As of late, it’s been mostly a social thing – at the bar, at “The Clubhouse” (the affectionate nickname given to my friends’ apartment where us girls hang out a lot), or at a party.
I have a lot of friends and acquaintances that smoke. Like, a LOT. They get to continue. I get to watch them, be jealous, and be cranky. My willpower sucks, but my sense of guilt is very high. So all of this combined equals a very, VERY cranky MeredithElaine.
I’m going to be honest here – I’m quitting because Eric wants me to. I personally have no desire to. I enjoy it. I’m kinda like Denis Leary in that respect. And now I’m going to be staring longingly as my friends walk outside for a smoke break. *sigh*
Yes, I should be all concerned and crap. I KNOW. Don’t fucking tell me shit I already know. My parents smoked for years – all my childhood. My mom eventually quit…I forget how long ago. My father quit once he had a heart attack in 1995. As he was having the heart attack, he drove himself to the hospital, and then had a cigarette before he walked in the Emergency Room doors. Stubborn as fuck, my dad is.
And so am I. That’s why I’m feeling bratty about this.
My blood pressure’s high these days – but only in the past few months has it gotten this way. NOT during the worst of my smoking, NOT when I was 20 pounds heavier than I am now, and NOT before I was working out 6 days a week. So excuse me if I’m a little fucking bitter about this. I do good things for me, and I’m WORSE off NOW? Fuck you, this isn’t fair. Can’t wait to find out what happens to me once I’m off the nicotine for a while.
And yes, the smoking has affected my singing voice a bit. I get hoarser, quicker. I’ve lost some of my range (of course, as an Alto, it’s not like I was rockin’ Mariah Carey notes anyway). And yes, I suppose that bums me out a little bit. But…guess what? I’m 35, I’m fat, and I look like a deformed crazy-person when I sing (I’ve seen the photos and the videos, people…they don’t fucking lie). I gave up my delusional dreams of being a “rock star” or even just in a band of any sort a LONG time ago. People want the hot chick who can kinda-sorta sing. That’s what draws the crowd. Not…someone like me.
I auditioned for a guy once, back in Philly. In front of a Barnes & Noble or Borders. I’d answered an ad on craigslist – he wanted a female vocalist for a dance/electronic project he was working on. We met, and I sang “Killing Me Softly“. He told me that he didn’t actually want a singer…he wanted someone who could carry a tune. He had this software that he wanted to use to tweak the vocals, so it wasn’t necessary to actually SING. Could I have met the inventor of AutoTune? Who knows.
(Besides, I get TERRIBLE stage fright if I don’t have the words on a screen in front of me. So I’m stuck with karaoke, folks.)
UGH. I’m so cranky about this. ALREADY.
And I SWORE to myself that if I ever quit again, I would not broadcast it to the world on Facebook and Twitter like I did last time.
I want to equate quitting smoking to the summer reading that we had to do in High School. I HATE being told what to do. I hate HAVING TO do something. I didn’t read for YEARS (other than school-related stuff), due to being TOLD in High School that I had to read “A Separate Peace” or “Animal Farm” and write a journal about my feelings on the book. Which I got a D+ on, by the way. For writing my FEELINGS and OPINIONS. Fuck you, Honors English.
Meanwhile, I’m almost finished with Jeff Garlin’s book that was loaned to me (Chris, I’ll get that back to you soon). I finished Pat Benatar’s autobiography in 3 days. I’m 1/3 of the way through Bethanny Frankel’s book. So it’s not like I don’t enjoy reading. I just don’t like being told what to read or when to read it.
Which makes me sound like a real BRAT and a BITCH when I’m talking about the LOVE OF MY LIFE WANTING ME TO QUIT SMOKING SO THAT WE CAN GROW OLD TOGETHER.
Speaking of my beloved, he apparently got out of work early tonight. He just walked in the door. I’m going to go hang out with him now.