The best laid plans…blah, blah, blah.
I work for an insurance/financial giant. This year the company implemented a new health insurance structure: higher premiums for tobacco users. The company offered a quit-program. After smoking more than 70% of my life, I decided to finally give up the cigarettes. Even with trying repeatedly to some success (I did quit for more than 12 months a few years back), I always ended up with a butt in my mouth, like an infant with a pacifier.
This time, I set my quit-date, May 20th. May 20th is the birthday of my first girlfriend and a lifelong friend. Well, she would have been a lifelong friend had she survived an automobile accident where she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. I chose the date in her honor.
I was steadfast. Beginning that Wednesday, I chewed on cinnamon toothpicks and sucked on cinnamon hard candy. Per my “quit-coach” (a telephone counselor provided by the quit-program), cinnamon is a good replacement for the taste of nicotine. Who knew? I smoked high-priced British Dunhill cigarettes that cost 8 bucks a pop for a pack. So every other day, beginning the 20th, I would reward myself with the purchase of a new CD. I’m a music junkie. I have 51.3 24-hour days of music in my iTunes, so I would get my fix with music, instead of sucking smoke into my respiratory system.
…And then our house flooded.
In the wee hours of Tuesday, following the Monday Memorial Day of May 25th, our home welcomed about a half-foot of water during what will go down as one of the worst floods in Houston history. And all I could think, as my husband and I were throwing possessions up on the beds, the tables, the desks, the kitchen counters, etc., was how much I wanted a cigarette. So I bought a pack. And then I bought another. And another.
Now I’m back to Square One. Tomorrow is Monday, the first of June. A new month. A new chapter.
Tuesday evening I can buy a new CD. I’m going to start shopping tonight.
the right pills 