One Year of not Smoking

It has been a year now. What does that mean? I've been searching my soul about that, but to be honest, a year anniversary is like any other day. I thought that after a year, a great weight would be lifted. However, to be honest, I do not even think about it much (I thought that that day would never come). I simply don't smoke, and don't really want to smoke. Oh, every now and then, I'll walk by the smokers at work, smell the smoke and think, hmmm, wouldn't that be nice. But, that is rare. Mostly I pity them. They are chained to the addiction and it drives their life.

When we go out to our favorite wine bar, we have a friend who smokes. Every 45 minutes, she has to go out and poison herself, even when it is raining. Boy, I'm glad I don't have to do that anymore. I remember that. It is like a trained chicken that when it hears a bell, it must do something to get its reward. However, for me, it was not a reward, it was simply to feed the crave, to set it aside for a while. As soon as I finished the smoke, the clock would tick again.

Tick tock. Tick tock. Ding. Ding. Ding. Time to smoke.

I remember that trapped feeling I'd get when I couldn't smoke, say on an airplane, or a movie theater. After a while, the bell would go off, and I could not think about anything else. Dammit, I need a cigarette. Need. It was sort of a quiet panic. The bell would ring louder and louder. Then, as soon as I got outside, I'd suck down a cancer stick as quickly as possible, and the clock would start ticking again.

So, it was been a year. I stopped winding clock, so it ran down and stopped. I don't know what to say. I just don't smoke. Now it is time to go about my day again, and not even think about it.