GUS (Gave Up Smoking) is a community support diary for Kossacks in the midst of quitting smoking. Any supportive comments, suggestions or positive distractions are appreciated. We avoid discussion of political issues. If you are quitting or even thinking about quitting, please -- join us! GUS Library at dKosopedia is organically evolving, and stocked with free-range information: quit-smoking links, helpful GUS diary writing tips, and the GUS buddy list.
I hadn't intended to write what is shaping up to be my own GUS trilogy of terror. My first and second diaries, written under fire while engaged in a painting project from hell at my eastern coastal parent's abode... well, they have a lot of cussin'n. Check them out, if you feel that your (my) first half-pot of coffee hasn't quite yet filled you with enough piss 'n vinegar to start off your Monday with a "howdy-do, neighbor!" If this is your ill-willed intent for the day, then believe me, I got your back on that one.
Now, in writing this third entry, also done in the span of a half-hour or so, I am on the last major day of the project, using tomorrow to do a walk-around, fill paint in touch-up areas, and recommend further needed fixes to my folks. There won't be too much cussin' in this one. Nope, nothing but an odd concept that I'd like to present.
This concept is based in harm reduction, and what is known as Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. It has worked for me in tackling a life-long problem with alcohol abuse, and I am now offering to you a micro-model of how I am applying it to nicotine... to cigarettes... the butts... the smog.
Before going below the fold, please note that my model will contain very specific descriptions of feelings of mine that revolve around the mental and emotional side of the physically addictive qualities of good ol' tar and nicotine... fucking death sticks (oops). So I would like to warn you that such descriptions may be triggersome to those of you brave quitters who have also dealt with an addiction to cigarettes. And theres a reason for my acute detail, though I won't preface it here.
Read on, if you dare, and I think you may get where I'm coming from. Or at least have a laugh. Or at the very least, receive a take-away from this and the previous two diaries: beware of conducting business with family (bless their hearts), and always use a respirator, when removing crappy-assed popcorn ceiling finish from your abode. Better yet, call a contractor when in doubt. Enough about that for now.
This piece is centered around reasons I love cigarettes.
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