The hubster quit smoking a few weeks ago, and I said I’d join him as soon as my current stash of cigarillos ran out.  Well, that happened on Wednesday night, so yesterday was my first full day of not smoking in over ten years.  With the exception of quitting for two years back in 1996-1998 and then deciding I could be a social smoker (yeah right), I’ve been smoking for the last twenty-two years.  To say it’s a bitch to quit is a minor understatement.


Yesterday during the day wasn’t so bad, because I was at work, and didn’t smoke there anyway.  But last night?  Oh man.  I was seriously jonesing…massive headache, twitchy nerves, the whole nine yards.  And yeah, some of that could surely by my hypochondriac side rising up, but it was still there, and still driving me nuts.


I was joking with my critique partners that I’ll either become totally spastic, getting 120 things done (this is how hubby has coped), or I’ll curl up in a fetal ball for a week.  So far it’s option #1, but I’m not counting anything out…