quitting | Observant Bystander

Yesterday I decided to try a little game with an old friend of mine. The game was called ‘how many times can I resist you?’ Turns out it’s not that hard and I’m still at it on this fine Sunday morning.

The Marlboro Light 100’s (in a box) are still sitting on the endtable, where I laid them Friday night. Untouched. Today I plan to kick him and his other buddies (the ones residing in a carton in my briefcase) out permanently. Like into the trash. Ditto for the Galouises in the car.

The other game I played yesterday was called ‘Let’s see how out of shape I am’. Pretty bad it seems. Beginner level aerobics and 5lb weights were all I could handle.

And I used to be so much better.

The couple of cigarettes I had 15 months ago during a weekend of partying, turned back into a pack a day habit a few weeks later. Quitting time got postponed indefiniately. and walks with the dog dwindled. No longer does the donning of a sports bra excite my little canine friend – the act which was always a prelude to a long walk – who now knows it only means a marathon housecleaning session, and not an activity that will interest him in the least.

Anyone who tells you that smoking helps keep the weight off is a liar. The dumbbells and exericse videos that used to sit next to the TV in the front room, have been languishing in a cupboard for the better part of a year. Sometimes I think I can hear Jillian and Charlene and Tammilee beating their little fists on the cupboard door, begging to be let out, each one dying to be reinstalled as my personal trainer. With only each other to taunt, they probably really miss me – their star pupil who routinely hurled a hearty “Fuck you, bitch” at the television screen when things got tough. Tammilee, especially seemed, to relish my hatred of her, and would only ramp up the torture with each epithet I spewed. She’ll be so glad to see me later this week; perhaps she will even smile.