28 th November.

28 November
Not a nice day but a little bit of blue sky visible for a while.
Have to stay in today and tomorrow in case they call for washer.
Could murder a smoke.
Lot of the time before I got out of bed was spent thinking of excuses for buying baccy, I.e. buy smoke and settle down to two days course work; or as an aid to forgetting toothache, which is a bit painful this morning.

Four o’clock this afternoon is 24 hrs; this is the worst few hours from rising till mid afternoon, after that the craving isn’t so bad.
If I can last till four then the rest is a lot easier.

The sound of my throat crackling and wheezing should be enough but the memory soon fades as I awake.
I try and remember all I’ve read, the advice and suggestions from other quitters, all I can think of is the advice to be aware of the crazies, especially for the first few days.

Ideas mill round inside my head, the conclusion of them all is me buying baccy, a half ounce at least, for now I daren’t think of buying usual two ounce pack because that will mean I’d have to give up giving up for at least a week and in a week the weed would have replaced its power of control.
Half an ounce is seen as the least of the evils available, a total I could take or leave, the least possible temptation. Yet I stumble and take the time to think of the options, wondering if I should be satisfied with abstaining for 20 hrs and succumbing to the need felt for a smoke.

I have been forced to stay in at least one day and possibly two,
I would be a fool surely not to use that enforced encampment to help me give up the weed.
I dare not slip out to the shops, not worth the risk, I imagine the hassle involved to re organise a pick up for the machine.
I play with the mole on my neck and try to decide if it has grown or shrunk.

I know I will feel better after 24 hrs, and if I reach that then the next 16 hrs will be easier, leaving only another 8 hr period to go through tomorrow.
In my mind there is a battle of wills going on, victory is counted in minutes and hours, the overall war is seen in terms of days.
One day’s abstinence, the first day off the weed is the most important. And the hardest, it seems to be at the time.
My subconscious is still dwelling upon the odds of me missing the delivery driver if I nip to the shop.
Almost 20 hrs, my mind is thinking, wondering if there are any tab ends in the ashtray of the car, if I ventured to find out then surely I would then go to the shop and risk missing the delivery,
or would I be satisfied with the contents of the tray and try to roll a cig from the remains, if there is any tab ends there; can’t be more than two or three at the most.

My mind is telling me that I would truly enjoy a rollie now, yet I know I will get no enjoyment from a smoke, just appeasement for the craving.
I now beginning to think about buying a half-ounce and I feel as if my grip is slipping,
I’m thinking of waiting till after five when I have decided will be safe to shop.

I write a note; back in five mins. I throw it on the floor sensing my weakness.

I feel hungry but know its not hunger but yearning for the smoke.
The sun breaks through but fails to alight on me so I cannot feel righteous.
I take a deep breath and breathe out, my mind is thinking of the smoke passing in and out of my mouth. I never however think of it passing into my lungs making them wheeze and work under par.
Sounds such a simple task, like my Father says; he cannot understand why I should consider it hard to simply stop smoking.
Not give up, because that would mean losing something and I have almost convinced myself that I don’t get a lot from smoking so am not losing anything.

It’s not giving up then it’s stopping.

It’s a habit that has to be broken and the only way is to break the daily routine.

The hardest part of the routine is the early morning smokes, the first ones smoked after waking up, they generally number three or four before they take effect.
If one can do without the usual three, almost chain-smoked with the first cuppa or two, then the following hours are punctuated by stomach churning pains as the yearning kicks in and the need for a smoke grows.
These stomach pains are so similar to hunger that one often substitutes food for the smoke, but no amount of food will stop the feelings in the pit of the stomach, that only disappears with the first draws of the first smoke.

I make myself another cuppa,
I don’t know whether a cup of tea helps or hinders the situation, in a way the tea settles the stomach cramps but the drinking of a cup of tea is so strongly associated with having a smoke as well that it serves to strengthen the craving for a smoke.

Thus the mind is full of mixed, confused messages, I wonder if I hadn’t been under “orders” to stay in would I have lasted even this long.
The urge to buy a half ounce is strong; my commonsense tells me that to but an ounce from my supplier would make more sense financially, but I’m aware that he may not have the ounce packets on him and in which case I’d be channelled into buying a two ounce pack which means all attempts to stop smoking would be shelved for the duration of the life of the packet which would be at least a week.
It’s a lot easier to simply accept the fact that I’m a smoker and get on with enjoying the cheap tobacco.
Obviously the amount of procrastination this morning has showed that my will power is slipping to a dangerous level.
I’m almost willing to give in and carry on smoking regardless.

Regardless of what? Of all the reasons to stop.
Health, wealth, at the moment the urge to smoke is greater than my aim to quit.
I remember the chewing gum and slip a piece into my mouth.
I can see no way of me surviving this day out without a smoke.

The room is warm and well lit by shafts of sunlight yet I consider returning to bed to cope with next few hours.
The next five hours will be the worst.
I’m going to car to go through ashtray.
Total contents, one slim tab end; I manage to make a rollie, slimmer than a match and more paper than baccy,
Smoked what did I get from it?

Nothing.
I forget as well as satisfying the gut craving, smoking is a way of passing the time and that is probably why I smoke, to pass away the hours between waking and bed.
Whilst looking through the ashtray I spotted a pound coin underneath and immediately searched to see how much coin there was, if there had been enough for a packet I’m sure I’d have shot off to the shop!
In my mind I’d bought it.

This battle is almost minute-by-minute.
I decide to try meditating to the sounds in an effort to pass the time.
I find enough baccy in the crease of the recliner to make a rollie, I smoke it despite the different tastes and my stomach groans. I get nothing from it except the ability of the sunlight to highlight the curling smoke in the room.
I decide this time for fresh air so I open all the windows and feel the fresh air circulate around the room. The air smells good and as my stomach continues to churn I breathe it in deeply, whilst pouring myself a beer.

To drink without a smoke is another aspect of life that has hitherto been alien to me.
Perhaps a few beers will help me if I decide to return to bed for a few hours sleep till the evening viewing starts on the TV.
The sun continues to shine on me and the room smells a lot fresher already.
I just wish I had some sleeping tablets to allow me to sleep through he first 24+ hours.
The cold lager slips down my throat and prompts a belch.
In a while I’ll begin to feel hungry.
So here I sit, chewing gum and drinking cold ale, cigarette less.
Father phoned he’s been for a jolly to Darlington, market day.
It seems the closer I get to the 24 deadline the stronger the urge to go to the shop becomes.

As usual I cracked, went to the shop and bought a bottle of strong cider and half an ounce,
drank half a bottle and went to bed at 4p.m. woke up thinking it was 8.45 but turned out to be 11.45 so went back to bed.