Emmaline has Free Time

Okay, so I stole this post title from a book by one of my favorite authors, Iris Smyles. If you haven't read anything by her, you're wrong for that, so get on it. But, I digress.

If you're my Facebook friend, at this point you know that I have gone 19.6 hours without smoking. According to my handy-dandy app, I have saved $14.36, added 4 hours to my life and not smoked 20.4 beautiful, lovely cigarettes. In other words, I feel like death.

Yes, yes I know all the health benefits. I know I will be able to afford that beautiful Madewell bag that I have been salivating over. I can smell for the first time in like three years. But none of this makes me feel that much better, honestly. Every time another person likes my Faebook post, it seems more real and more like a binding, drawn-in-blood commitment. All I want to do is walk outside, sit on my bench and inhale carcinogens.

So I am revisting my blog in both an effort to find something to do and document how bad this is so I won't go back to it. Because I wouldn't wish these feelings on my worst enemy. Or maybe I would. Depends on the enemy. It's so hard to write without a cigarette. Why, oh, why God above did you make these things so bad but so good?!?!

Okay, okay. Focus Emmaline. This is what I am going to do. I suppose unlike my previous blog posts this is more like a journal entry, which is so annoying I know. But the lack of nicotine mixing with all the caffeine in my blood is making me a little cray-cray so I'm not promising anything great from this post. Hopefully, after day 3 I'll get a little better at this again. So, here are the things I did this morning instead of smoking.

1. Lay in bed past my alarm and want a cigarette. So badly.

2. Tell Wendy, my cat, that her happiness is upsetting me because I am cranky.

3. Look at my Nicoderm patch. How do these things get so dirty over night? What was I doing, sleep walking into a mud pit?

4. OMG. I didn't even think about sleep smoking?! Is that a thing? Must google.

5. Okay. Googled sleep smoking. Nothing came up immediately, so I assume that I won't actually succumb to smoking while unconscious.

6. Look at my quit smoking app. Seeing my results does not make me feel better.

7. Drag myself out of bed and made coffee. Wow. I can actually smell coffee. How am I supposed to drink coffee without smoking? Try it. It's not that bad. Bleh.

8. Okay, time to form another insane habit. My mom bought me the life-changing magic of tidying up for Christmas and I suppose there's no time like the present to start it. Even though the present is a literal freaking hell.

9. This book is not distracting enough. I pick up my other book, Leaving the Atocha Station. Oh yeah, he's a big smoker in this book. Not now.

10. A text! Unfortunately it's from the New York government encouraging me to keep this up. It asks me when I feel like I want to smoke the most. Answer? All the time. Thanks Mayor de Blasio.
11. I am now literally starving. I refuse to get fat from quitting smoking. The interwebs informed me that this happens mainly to women. Another lovely benefit of being the fairer sex. Special K Cereal it is.

12. Okay time to primp. What music shall I play? Something fun. Train! Train always puts me in a good mood. I am now confessing this dirty little secret to the world wide web, but I feel like reading through this blog, this is not the most embarrassing thing I've ever admitted. Meet Virginia! Yes. Oh wait no, no, no. It mentions smoking. I decide to switch to ABBA. Mamma Mia is much safer.

13. I apply red, red lipstick because now smoking won't ruin it. Look at me, finding a silver lining.

14. Call my mom. Whine.

15. Call my dad. Whine.

16. Look at Wendy. Whine.

17. Chase Wendy around my apartment to try to brush her.

18. Grab my nicotine gum. Why is this stuff insanely hard to get out? The instructions are basically quantum mechanics. I cut them open. I'm an addict, remember?

19. Get horizontal on my sofa and feel bad for myself.

20. Open up computer and decide to blog.

So, you're now caught up on my first day post-cigarettes. It pretty much sucks. But my dad picking out my clothes sucks worse. I think. No, no it does! Right? Meow I hate everything.

The end. I'm too cranky to be clever.