Week 3 in review

This was my most successful week, although the promising four-day start, when I did not have more than a half-pack each day, was followed by a disappointing -- in terms of smoking at least -- long weekend.

Day 13
I have 10 smokes in a long day where I battle against my urges for control of my soul. I chew my nails, eat sunflower seeds and distract myself as best I can.

Day 14
Another 10-pin day. Nine more perfect frames and I'll have rolled a perfect game. I feel angry, catch myself grinding my teeth on numerous occasions and realize I have no more fingernails to chew on.

Day 15
I went to the office, attended a team meeting and came to some interesting conclusions about the nicotine patch. Today, my moments of lucidity battled ceaselessly with muddle-headed confusion. Co-worker Sarah suggests that quitting smoking is a good excuse for, well, just about anything. I sit and dwell on this comment for some time, wondering how I may use this newfound philosophy to my advantage. In total I had nine smokes and spent the evening at home fighting the urge to sleep and failing.

Day 16
I spend the day playing silly little math games in my head, continually trying to convince myself that having only nine cigarettes yesterday somehow entitles me to 11 today, thus maintaining an average score of 10 or less smokes per day. Using a ruler and a number 2 pencil, I scribble several equations down on a piece of paper. When I reach for the protractor, I come to my senses and desist. In the end, I only have 10, which comes as a surprise, even to me.

Day 17
I awake with absolutely no hope of continuing my half-a-pack or less streak. It's Friday for heaven's sake. I smoke 25 on the patio, each smoke reminding me that I had surrendered the day before it had really begun. I realize my companions and regular acquaintances at the local, if they were in the know, would likely have no interest in my struggle. It also dawns on me that many of the latter and perhaps some of the former would, in fact, take pleasure in my failures. I wonder if I'm becoming bitter, or going somewhat mad, or if my mind is offering me something ugly and mean to hold on to, anything to help me kick the habit.

Day 18
A surprise morning call from friend Rob leads to a 1 p.m. porch party at my house. He, Donna and I sit on the stoop until well past midnight, drinking Corona and rum and socializing with various neighbours. It all seems very un-Torontonian. I smoke 26 cigarettes.

Day 19
I have 12 smokes. Looking back on the week and the weeks before that, I see the pattern. Friday and Saturdays are glaring moments of weakness, where smokes accompany drinks in a haphazard flurry of self-destruction. It is also the time I spend surrounded by friends and acquaintances, 90 per cent of whom smoke as well. The suggestions I read on smoking cessation websites tell me to give up the booze and the little human contact I have, anything that I associate with smoking. I wonder how long I can hold my breath?