Yes, it's true. As I sit here at my laptop, craving a cigarette to go with my coffee, I have decided to quit smoking. And I'm doing it to support my candidate, and the future of my country.
Yes, Senator Obama, I have quit smoking - in your honor.
I was on my way home from work last night, with about five or so cigarettes left in my latest pack. (Marlboro Lights, if you're curious.) I was going to stop by the Dairy Mart a couple of streets over, when I remembered that I had literally no money in my wallet, and not nearly enough change in the cup holder to pay the $3.59.
(And no - I will not suck it up, so to speak, and settle for a generic brand. The last time I had a relapse and started smoking again, I made a promise to keep it to a half-pack a day, and absolutely no generics.)
I also didn't have enough in my checking account to use the debit card (direct deposit pay time being more than four hours away). And I was NOT going to put a pack of cigarettes on a credit card - there's just something kind of sad about doing that. (White Castles, on the other hand... I have no problem putting that on the plastic if I need to.)
Five cigarettes would get me through the night, and the first part of the morning, I told myself, and made my way home.
I got up this morning, my day off, storms already brewing outside, my dogs already nervous from the distant thunder. I brew some coffee, check the email and headlines, and reach for the pack and lighter, sitting next to my phone, watch, wallet and mini voice recorder. I'm a creature of habit; all that stuff gets set on the kitchen table, right next to each other.
There's one smoke left. I momentarily think about when and where I'll get the next pack. It's a reflex action we smokers develop - it comes automatically and involuntarily, and it takes less than a second: do I go to the Dairy Mart out of loyalty to the nice guys from the UAE who own the place, or do I go to that place next to the Arthur St. exit ramp, which is more on the way?
I drink my coffee (French roast, fresh ground, black/no sweetener), smoke the Milton Berle Light down to the filter, while perusing dKos, Salon, McClatchey, and various emails. MSNBSleaze is up on the screen (oh Mika, how far the apple fell from the tree); my Pandora.com Scott Walker channel is providing the background music. Snail mail donation pitches from the DNC, the Kentucky Democratic Party, every lefty NGO and every Democratic candidate I've ever even thought about giving to litter my kitchen table.
Levees are breaking. People's lives are going FUBAR. I'm considering dipping into my home equity line of credit to fill the gas tank later. It's my day off from the mcjob I don't particularly like and which sucks away another little piece of my soul every day I go there.
I remember that today is the first of four straight days off, the realization of which makes me giddy as a schoolgirl. (I guess - I'm no expert on how giddy schoolgirls get, but it's a funny expression, especially when Mike Meyers would say it during the "Sprockets" skits on SNL.)
I can't really tell you when it came to me, and when I made the decision. Quitting smoking is something all smokers think about at some point, and think about often. Don't let anyone who says "I smoke because I enjoy it, and I can quit whenever I want" fool you. They smoke because they have to - and quitting is a bitch and a half.
I'd been thinking about it more seriously lately, trying to decide when to do it, and what my motivation would be. (Aside from the motivation of not hacking and coughing, not getting that occasional tightness in my chest, being able to sing a little better, etc.)
Stories from "Countdown," dKos and various other places about ugly, fallacious attacks against the Obamas are ringing in my head and getting me pissed off. Some rightwing pund-idiot hack with really weird eyes (yes, I know - redundant) is saying that Senator Obama "flip-flopped" on taking public financing, and Mika is agreeing with him even though nearly every one of her colleagues would tell her that that's not true, and this is really pissing me off. (Ziggy B must get heartburn every time he sees her on TV.)
And, for some reason, that's when it comes to me: Senator Obama, I'm going to quit smoking for you.
I'm going to count up how much I spend smoking each month, and I'm going to donate that money to your campaign.
I'm going to juggle some things around, and find some time to volunteer for your campaign here in Kentucky - where McBush's lead over you has shrunk almost to single digits.
And maybe most - and best - of all: I'm going to suspend my bleak pessimism about America's future, and succumb to the audacity of hope.
What a straaaaaange feeling this is.
(NOTE: I'm about three hours into this now; I'll put up the occasional progress report, if anyone's interested.)