I’ve always thought January is a decisive month which will define the current year trend. This is probably one of my nonsense stupidities, but it’s sort of placebo, if you know what I mean. Some people stick to the horoscope, others to numerology, there are many devoted to their Gods and also those who just face stuff as it comes. I choose January as my personal reference, and fortunately, even though it’s the longest month and it’s rough, this one is being a good one.
I’ve been telling you about euphoria, the recovery of old friends, my personal catharsis and the burial of a hatchet, and many other positive have been happening these days. Not bad, huh?
January is also a month full of anniversaries and personal reminders. I’d like to mention two I’m proud of.
First, it’s been already 2 years since I moved to The Hellhouse, and as you know, I’m delighted. If you’re single there’s nothing like living on your own, with all the responsibilities and pleasures it implies. The Hellhouse changes constantly, sometimes it’s neat, sometimes it’s a real mess, but if you step in, positive you know who’s the tenant. I’m very glad about having my own space, and probably in case I resume to living as part of a couple, this I will miss lots. I’m not exaggerating when I reckon these four walls sheltering mean freedom to me.
The other anniversary I’d like to highlight is one I actually forgot on its date, and realized about it a couple of days later. It’s been one year since I quit smoking, and probably the reason why I forgot about the date had to do with the fact that I long ago assumed not to carry on with this bad habit. I just don’t think about it anymore.
I don’t want to preach about quitting smoking, I just did it because I was sick of wasting lots of money in inhaling shit, my house, my clothes and everything stank, I didn’t look as cool as Lauren Bacall or Pam Grier when smoking, and it felt bad to be hooked to something in such a strong way. Every time I was stressed I needed a fag, every time I was angry, a cigarette was necessary, beer and smoking were partners in crime, and had the feeling that I was smoking compulsively.
When I gave a thought to quit smoking, my initial plan was to decrease the number of fags, and extend the time between them. At my former office everybody was smoker, quitting would be hard, but I had to give it a try.
I had one of these best seller self-help books about stopping smoking but when I started reading it seemed like a joke, addressed to retarded, and kind of sectarian. My intelligence and I felt insulted.
As mentioned, my initial plan was to follow a smoking Schedule which progressively will reduce the amount of cigarettes, trying to avoid any anxiety sign.My schedule only lasted for 3 days, and it was on Friday I didn’t smoke at all, even though there was a show that night and crazy after party. I stood firm and didn’t surrender.
Side effects are the worst shit of quitting. On one hand I only slept for 3 hours for 3 months, and then I had this compulsive eating attacks, making me gain 5-6 kg weight. And worst of all, for the 6 first months I was catching colds and flu once every month, till my logs were clean and my immune system was strong again.
I don’t miss smoking, perhaps I had thoughts of a cigarette in certain moments of stress and despair, but they didn’t last for too long.
I’m proud of myself for being capable of getting rid of a shitty habit. With the money I no longer spend in fags, I’ve been purchasing gig tickets and some records, thus just for that reason it was worth stopping once and for all. And believe me, there won’t be a next time.