I’m told that relapse is a part of the process…

So it’s been awhile since I updated this blog. I’ve been busy with life and stuff. Still holding strong, for the most part.

Stress levels have been up. Taxes, taxes. I owe a lot of money this year. I have enough to cover it, but it’s a drag to see all of those savings slipping from my fingers, especially during this lean time. With the economy changing, I have been a bit worried about my job. Freelancers are on unsteady ground and things are slowing down with my employers. I have been looking for other work, but haven’t heard much back yet.

I did have an interview this week, which went pretty well, actually. I mean, I don’t know if I’ll be called for the second interview, but I think I held my ground. Mostly I think that the potential employer may be put off by my graduate degree, as the job is one for which I am probably overqualified. However, it is a good company and I see a lot of potential for growth within the company rather than moving on to something else, so I hope I made my interest and capability apparent.

The thing is, after the interview, even though I felt I had performed pretty well, I found myself, in the release of that immediate stress, craving cigarettes more than I had at the beginning of March. I kept muttering to myself that I didn’t need them, I didn’t even want them, but no matter what I felt about it I couldn’t manage to stop myself from buying a pack of smokes.

I held it in my hand for a few seconds, willing myself not to open it. Yeah, that didn’t work. I totally gave in.

Oh my lordy. It was soooooo disgusting. Like really. I didn’t even get the happy head rush that comes from a smoke after a hiatus. It was just smelly and icky and it made me feel a bit sick to my stomach.

Suddenly I was transported to my life at age thirteen, when I endured the same stench and nausea to pass my initiation into the addicts’ club. Do you know anyone who wants to live through thirteen again? Me neither. I popped back into the present and realized that I possess one crucial tool that saves me from the fate of my thirteen-year-old self: I no longer have to fit into some stupid and incredibly short-sighted peer group.

I put the cigarette out. Good riddance. And on the way home I stopped at a friend’s place and gave her the pack. She hasn’t quit and I knew I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away. But I didn’t want to continue smoking them until they started to taste good again.

So yeah. A brief fall from grace there, but I am back on track. I feel sort of guilty about it, but I’m happy that I got the jones out and then got rid of the temptation right away.

The stupid thing is that I still sometimes feel like I want a cigarette, even knowing that it will taste disgusting. The recent memory of that grossness in my mouth and throat does make it easier not to linger on it, though.