I just had my last cigarette (hopefully). With the exceptions of my pregnancies, it’s been 24 long years of this for me. I’m nervous. Anxious. Almost unprepared (even though I really am). Tomorrow is going to be tough. I’ve been fairly easy-going and calm lately (med change). I’m hoping that I can remain that way and be smoke-free. I need to be. If I bust out of this house at 4 am tomorrow to buy another pack, I’m going to regret it. Or if I open my Parisian souvenir pack, I’ll be kicking myself. It’s a good thing I’m drinking right now, or I might hop in the car and do exactly what I don’t want to do.
My father would be proud of me for doing this. Mind you, I’m not doing this for him in his memory. I’m doing this for myself. And yes, I can be selfish about something like this. Yes, it benefits my family. But I got to worry about me in order to take care of things around here. Do you know what I mean?
Please don’t let me cave. I’ve been preparing for a month – yes, a month – for this. It’s time. I’m already worried about the enlarged lymph nodes that keep coming and going over the past month. Wait. What if it’s the medicine that’s doing that? I don’t think it would be one-sided though. Do you? I have to wait until the 22nd to find out.
I know I’m jumping, but for good reason. Ok, for reason. I’ve been dabbling in the wine tonight. Nothing new. Just enough to get me too tipsy to drive and too drunk to stay awake (and hopefully stay asleep all night).
I’m really not sure what else I really want to write here. The right side of my head is doing a slow thump. I guess I just wanted to vent and make this the evening of a new beginning that I can thank myself for.
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