12 measly hours, and my life will be changed for the better. Yesterday, I decided to quit. Granted, I've been tossing the idea back and forth in my mind for quite some time, but I finally made a plan. Wait? Plan! I'm ditching the cigs, and I'm going to do anything I have to to keep on track.
Tonight, the butt pots and the smoke chair are going in the garbage. I will clean the car. I will be revolted as I suck down my very last lungful of carcinogens, and I will get a horrid night sleep dreaming about not smoking. And then... well tomorrow is right around the corner.
My reasons for quitting are complicated and yet ever so simple. I want to see my sister's kids grow up. I want to have my own healthy brood. I want to stop coughing. In essence, I want to preserve my life the best I can, and smoking is like intentionally tying an anchor to my feet, diving in, and attempting to swim in the ocean. It is counterproductive to life.
I'll admit it. I'm afraid. The little buggers and I have had a love/hate relationship for years. I'm afraid to fail. Hell, I'm afraid of looking bad to my family if I fail. I'm afraid of withdrawals, of weakness, of weight gain. But I'm in it for the long haul, and I'm ready to face down this dragon.
Tomorrow is a new day...
