Thirteen
Saturday, February 4th, 2017
And now, as of a few days ago, thirteen years of not smoking! I’m not sure when this happened: I no longer ever think about how it would be nice to have a cigarette. I used to sometimes think that if disaster struck and I lost everything and everyone, then I could take it up again. My brain* doesn’t even go there any more. Perhaps because these days, we’re all rocketing toward disaster faster than we ever have? And I’m very busy coping?
Anyhoo. No stats this time. However! I took the stats from the last 7 years, and put them into a neat little make-a-graph program for kids because I know nothing of graphing, and voilà!
You can project where the numbers might be if we had numbers for this year. (Currently arguing with my computer about why no numbers this year. You don’t want to know.)
So, lucky thirteen is lucky! We’re so glad to be quit!
* My waking brain, that is. I do still dream about smoking once in a while. But I always feel bad doing it, like I am failing. I’ve tried to train myself to recognize that I am dreaming if I am smoking — because hey! If I’m going to be dream-smoking, I might as well be aware it’s only a dream so I can enjoy it, right? — but that hasn’t worked yet.