Fail.

After 15 days of not smoking, I smoked this morning. There is positively no way that I am pregnant right now so I'm not concerned that it would harm a developing human.

I haven't really talked about what it's like to quit smoking, so for those of you who haven't had to go through this particular brand of hell, I'll try to describe it.

But first, some backstory:

I started smoking a little over 10 years ago, in September 1999. I was 23 years old when I started which means I was old enough to know better. I started anyway. I still don't know exactly why. Maybe boredom, maybe weight control, maybe a million different things. I don't know.

I've tried numerous times to stop with no luck, obviously. It is quite frankly one of my favorite things to do. It doesn't disappoint me and I like the way I feel after I smoke. I feel relaxed, happy and in control, if that makes any sense. Which it probably doesn't.

The best way to describe what smoking feels like is courtesy of the writers of the TV show "Frasier". The storyline of this particular episode is that Frasier's agent, Bebe, is trying to quit smoking because her uber-rich soon-to-be husband asks her to quit before they get married otherwise they won't be getting married. Here's the quote:

"I like the way a fresh, firm pack feels in my hand. I like peeling away that little piece of cellophane and seeing it twinkle in the light. I like coasting that first, sweet cylinder out of it's hiding place and bringing it slowly to my lips. Striking a match. Watching it burst into a perfect, little flame and knowing that soon that flame will be inside me. I love the first puff, pulling it into my lungs. Little fingers of smoke filling me, caressing me, feeling that warmth penetrate deeper and deeper until I think I'm going to burst then WHOOSH! Watching it flow out of me in a lovely sinuous cloud; no two ever quite the same."

It's heavenly, really.

Now, quitting smoking. It's like I lost a good friend. Between lozenges I feel lost, in physical pain, in mental pain, anxious, irritable, angry, etc. etc. etc. It doesn't feel good or right. These side-effects are well-documented in numerous non-smoking websites and pamphlets, but knowing what it is doesn't make it easier to deal with.

I've been thinking about smoking for more than a week now. I'm only 15 days in to not smoking, but it was borderline obsession for me. Last night was the last straw. I got home from a wonderful evening with friends and all I could think about was smoking. I tossed and turned and tossed and turned all night. I slept a grand total of 45 minutes in 7 hours. I'm exhaused and on the verge of tears right now. M. spent the night at a friend's house, which I was fully aware of and prepared for, because he was going to be drinking and he didn't want to drive home. Being by myself is the worst possible thing for me right now because of the desire to smoke. That's patently obvious at this point. I tried to call him but he wasn't picking up. I considered posting on my message board but I didn't think anyone was awake at 2 AM. Or 3AM. Or 4 AM.

At 5:30 AM, I got out of bed and fed my cats, who were very pleased to be fed this early on a weekend. Then I put on my shoes, my jacket, grabbed my purse and drove the 5 minutes to the nearest convenience store to buy smokes. I smoked on the way home and I've had two since then.

My rational mind knows that smoking is bad for me, but the idiot side of my brain said, "Smoke. It won't hurt you. It will make you feel better. Smoke, damnit. Smoke." So I did.

I don't feel better. I feel like an absolute failure and I don't like it. The early mornings are the worst on the whole. If I can make it past about 9 AM, I'm golden. On the weekdays it's easier because I get up so early and am out the door so early that my body doesn't really have time to register the desire to smoke. The weekends are different because I have nothing to do in the mornings. I try to sleep in, buy my internal clock won't let me. I don't know what to do. So I'm blogging, hoping that seeing these words in print will snap my brain out of whatever funk it's in and I'll have the strength to douse the remaining cigarettes in water and ruin them.

So far, that strength hasn't arrived. And coffee, like alcohol, still tastes better when you're holding a cigarette in your hand.

Fail. Fail. Fail. Fail.

Fail.