You may well be wondering what in the hell this is, and frankly so am I. The bottom line is that in much of the literature I've read about removing metaphoric monkeys from your back, it's a good idea to let a lot of people know about your "kicking" efforts, for support or embarrassment I'm not certain, but I'm a good soldier and follow orders so here it is.

Preamble: Saturday, January 26

Okay, so I'm gonna' stop smokin'.

Why? Cuz' I'm gonna' be 40 in two months and being a junkie just isn't attractive, not to mention wheezing when I run (okay, walk) up a flight of stairs. Why I need days like these, where I go through all kinds of ritual research and chest thumping declarations is beyond me, but here I am surfing the net for stop smoking tips, checking my pantry for foods that trigger smoking, reading the details at www.nicoderm.com like I'm reading the instructions on a fire extinguisher in the middle of a grease fire. Mind you, all the while, chain smoking Camel Lights in a tobacco bacchanalia. It's about 10:00 am when I run out of smokes, and somehow convince myself that I need to keep smoking cuz' it say's if you use the patch you mustn't intake any nicotine or you might wind up in the emergency room twitching and giggling like those dudes in "Reefer Madness". Also, I need to find out how much I spend on smokes to fulfill one of the edicts of the stop-smoking plan, which is to find out what your annual cash contribution to 7-11/Big Tobacco is ($2,628.00 at current prices, I almost hurled). So I get the "buy 2 get 1 free" deal (hey, can't pass up a deal, and today isn't about denying my dark side), and a Slurpee. Went to Safeway and got my new healthy groceries, stared at the display full of nicotine transdermal system patches, like I was going to learn something from reading the boxes. Then, after some teeth gnashing over the "name brand vs. Safeway brand" decision, I asked the tiny man behind the counter to unlock the display, opening the door to the undiscovered country of clean lungs. I checked out, headed home, and smoked myself silly baby. Around 8:00 pm, I took the remaining tobacco (1 ½ packs and some snuff), ran them under the tap, and crushed them (necessary, I guarantee I would've been digging through the old onions and coffee grounds for one last hit) and closed the lid on the can. Later, after reading some Raymond Chandler, I slipped into sleep knowing this was going to be a good time.

Day 1, Sunday, January 27

Got up late, using the bed as some kind of holding pen, where real decisions don't have to be made till your feet hit the floor. But eventually, my bladder won the standoff and around 9:00 am I faced the day. It's a peculiar mix of joy and dread, this quitting smoking thing, like if I stop I have to admit it was stupid to begin with. But it is, and anybody who says it isn't is a fool or 22 which, now that I think about it, is pretty much the same thing. When I was 22 I could smoke a cig, then go for a run, and not think twice about it. At 39, I can't smoke and even delude myself into thinking about running, the staircase being enough of a hurdle. I piddle around, drink some coffee, get the paper and read about the NFL championship games to come, and think about putting it off for one more day, maybe just run to the corner and snag a pack. Nah, time to shower, and get this train out of the station.

I run a razor over my shoulder to get rid of the random hairs, rinse off and towel dry. Looking in the mirror, I look like a lunatic, I'm taking this way too seriously just need to embrace the decision and jump. I unwrap the first patch like I'm pullin' the pin on a grenade, why I'm taking all the warnings on the package so seriously eludes me, but I guess that's the same with anything new you pay attention to the details till it fades into routine. But this is day one, baby, and I notice everything from the sound of the foil tearing to how the backing I peel off floats to the trash can. I adhere the patch like I'm trying to align the edges with nonexistent lines on my arm, Jesus, get out of the bathroom.

I'm so focused on "not smoking", keeping my fingers busy, I get a lot of things done, laundry, cooking, shine my shoes and lots of ironing. I haven't ironed anything in three months, now my socks have a crisp crease. The Patriot's pull off an upset of the Steelers that keeps me glued, and the Eagles take the Rams to the edge, but can't push 'em over. Damn, I haven't been this interested in a football game since I was 13. I had the horrendous task of telling Todd (a real black and gold, die hard Steelers boy) of what happened, felt like I ran over his cat. We chat for awhile, he heads back to College Park, I watch the Simpsons then grab Raymond Chandler's "The Long Good-bye" and hit the sack. There's a hell of a lot of smokin' going on in this novel, I'm surprised the dog's not lighting up. But not me, baby, not me. I'm pretty sure I've got a smile on my yap when I drift off to sleepy land.

Day 2, Monday, January 28

Coffee, shower, slap my patch on and hit the road for the office. I'm all giddy as I'm driving, then it hits me, I'm flying on this patch. I'm jacked on nicotine in a way that you just don't get from smoking, and this worries me a bit. Is this just another monkey? I don't think so, there are no fetishes associated with a patch, no coffee and patch, beer and patch, martini and patch, no cuties offering you a patch in a bar. Anyway, I get to the office and, without really wanting to give a blow by blow of my new no-smokin' gameplan to my poor, terribly indulgent coworkers. Flying. The edge comes off around noon. Get home, can't focus on anything except not smoking, start walking around the 'hood and see what's out there. Go to the bookstore, go to the "whole foods" grocery, just walkin', buying stuff for seemingly no reason. Got some Pad Thai mix and cook it up, pretty damn tasty. It hits me, as much as I'm thinking about "not smoking" my body really isn't giving me any grief, the patch really does take care of the physical craving. I hit the sack, read Philip Marlowe smoke some more, and feel good about day 2.

Day 3, Tuesday, January 29

No smokin', need to watch the snacks, I'll start lookin' like a fattened calf if I don't watch it.

For anyone out there thinking about quitting, I can't emphasize this point enough, I'm experiencing no physical cravings. I've been smoking on a daily basis for a little under 20 years, and here on day 3, the only reason I want a smoke is because that's what I do, not because I really "want" one.

Day 4, Wednesday, January 30

Need to put some effort into my evening routine, I can't keep walking to grocery stores to keep busy. I'll put that on the weekend's agenda. I'm supposed to be writing my novel, but can't get my head in that space at the moment.

Day 5, Thursday, January 31

Jesus! Got out of the house around 6:45 this morning and I was late, runnin' around like a chicken with my head cut off. I'm about halfway to the office when I realize I forgot to put on the patch. So I'm driving in having this existential, macho dialog with myself "don't need no patch, it's just a day, what could happen?" vs. "you know you're an f-ing junkie, as soon as you drive home, you'll be in 7-11 trying to say "Camel" in Hindi to expedite the process". Pragmatism won out, I hit the Safeway across the street from the office, bought the Safeway brand patch, just to see if there was any difference. I was back on a solid nicotine wave by 8:00 am.

I learned that I'm not ready to push this yet, that I really need to stick to the plan, the organization something I can sink my teeth into. Tobacco has been an integral part of my days for so long, I'm not taking any chances, if I fall off the wagon at any point I'm getting right back on. Smoking's for suckers and I'm sick of being a sucker. A friend told me one of her mother's sayings, which I'm sure is well known but it was the first time I'd heard it, "we spend the first half of our lives trying to kill ourselves, and the second trying to stay alive". Right on baby, right on.

Day 6, Friday, February 1

First work week down and haven't caved to my baser instincts yet, though I have been experiencing strange flashes of desire. Learned associations between situations and smoking are tickling my brain when I'm not paying attention. I've heard that amputee's can feel the absent limb, phantom limbs, and baby I'm feelin' my phantom cigs. The brain is a dark, wacky playground and the bad kids are smoking behind the tree. My dear friend and colleague Jenny sat next to me during a titled staff meeting, and later, made the comment that it's a good thing I'm quitting cuz' my breathing sounds like a cow struggling out of the mud. And she's right, I haven't paid attention to it, but I do sound like I'm workin' to suck in oxygen and that's gotta' stop. This past week's been about quitting, next week is about health. I'll hit the gym tomorrow and begin the process.

My friend Heather called tonight to see if I wanted to hit a movie, I conned her into just grabbing some chow, cuz Johnny Geezer was feeling tired. She was kind enough to agree, we hit the Italian place around the corner, and started with some white fontina pizza, yum. I bogarted a glass of Heather's half bottle of Ruffino Chianti, the first alcohol I've consumed in the past three weeks (I stopped drinking to see if it would have an impact on my smoking, it did, but not enough). It was just delightful, beyond the wonderful flavor of the wine, I didn't have a single twinge of smoke-envy just sat back and enjoyed the sensation. We watched the dvd of "Shadow of the Vampire" and munched the tasty confections we snagged at the coffee shop on the way home, along with a mocha gigante. All the while, perhaps a little too much so, I was aware how I didn't want a Camel. Best not get too cocky, I'm still mainlining 21mg of nicotine via the patch, and it's a long road baby.

Day 7, Saturday, February 2

I didn't smoke, I'll give myself that much, but jeez didn't get a lot accomplished. And even with my trusty patch stuck to my deltoid, this was the first day when the monkey tried to climb back on. And how strange a feeling that was, my brain waging a nutty battle of "look, I'm doin' this, so just shut up" vs. "mmmwouldn't a smoke feel sweet right about now, and how 'bout a beer?". I won the battle but the intensity of the internal discourse was a bit unnerving. Heather made a request of one of my famous (well, I yammer on incessantly about how excellent my Mother's carrot cake is, so maybe "repeatedly self-aggrandized" is more apt than "famous') carrot cakes for her birthday on Monday, and I thought that was a reasonable request. As usual, I didn't think my way through the mechanics of such a thing, and decided to take an inventory. Well, taking into account expiration dates, I possessed exactly two things, salt and vanilla to craft this masterpiece. So I headed to the store, with a rather lengthy list, and was ill prepared for the nicotine-fit to come. The store was packed with ill-mannered shoppers, raising my nerve rattle, the store also has a mess of cigarettes...a bad combination. But I gutted it out and got the eighty or so dollars needed to create and deliver this cake. Forgot how you really need to commit to the baking lifestyle to make it economical. May need to make some dumplings or something. Anyway, the cake process went well, oh god this thing is tasty. Heather and her roomies were home, so I figured why wait? I'm happy to report, cake brought desired smiles and I slept the good sleep that comes from doin' a good thing.

Day 8, Sunday, February 3

Super Sunday baby, Patriots brought the pain, and I cooked up a storm (no cigarettes were used during this process). Chicken soup, another carrot cake (after I gave Heather hers, I was feeling a bit left out), chili and some turkey meat for random use during the week. My neighbors Chris and Susan popped by for the second half of the game and some cake, good people and big cinema fans. Excellent conversation, and something that wouldn't have happened had I been smoking. There's no way I could've gone through a half of football without smoking up a blue stinky cloud a month ago, and being terribly self-conscious about such grotesque behavior, would never have invited nice nonsmokers over to hang. So among the many benefits to the ex-junkie life is a more open door policy to folks dropping by. What's not to like?

Day 9, Monday, February 4

Damn, it's 7:30 and I'm totally wiped out, I think my bod's getting used to this steady flow of nicotine. A fact, when coupled with my sedentary lifestyle, is leaving me without much energy. My ability to concentrate seems affected as well, very much distracted, and nothing's more pathetic than a distracted big man. I need to take this evening to write, and more importantly, get my act together in terms of daily schedules. I'm a deadline focused guy and I've been living a life without schedules and deadlines (except the March 30 "ex-smoker" deadline), and that's just being lazy. As much drama as I've put on quitting the smokes, in the end, it's just quitting smoking and can't be the only focus of my day. I'll let ya' know tomorrow if I'm productive this evening, and if my renewed push for order is anything more than the pipe-dreams of a fat boy.

Day 10, Tuesday, February 5

Kind of nondescript day, though I didn't have a single pang of smoking desire, even when standing in front of the tobacco pornography display at the grocery store. When I was buying, I had a form of tunnel vision, where all I saw was the Camels. Now, I just sort of look up and see the spectacle of it all, the amount of smokes in that display. Man, I hope I never get back on the smoke train, it's demented. And I know, with molecular certainty, if I got myself in the right (actually wrong) situation I could blow off a pack of cigs and love every puff. And it would be a woman. Gotta' stay vigilant baby, I'm not that strong, keep your fingers crossed.

Day 11, Wednesday, February 6

Too many damn birthdays this week, jeez, Heather, then my pal Dedric and now little Mia (tentative, officially still nameless) who popped into the world to my colleague and all around good guy Glenn and his honey-bunny Diane yesterday around 3:30. So I'll be damned, but I'm back in the kitchen bakin' stuff again, Toll House Cookies for Diane and a yellow cake with milk chocolate frosting for Dedric. Cookies came out okay, but there's something horribly wrong with the appearance of the cake. Wrong enough that I felt compelled to call Dedric to prepare him for what's to come, I mean beyond being strangely flat, the layers weren't even round, they sort of pulled away from the pans as they cooled into a trapezoidal configuration. The real funny thing is that the artful application of about a gallon of frosting makes it look, although a little short, like a real cake. No smokes baby, feelin' good. Gotta' get to the gym.

Day 12, Thursday, February 7

The baby referenced in Wednesday's entry is now officially known as Mia Rose, just wanted to clear that up. Glenn delivered the cookies to Diane, and I'm hopin' they put a grin on her yap. Dedric enjoyed his cake, and even though it looked like some horrible genetic mutation, it was pretty tasty. Going to a dinner for Dedric in Georgetown, but it's starting pretty late for Johnny so I might have to bail after drinks, either way it'll be a nice walk. A nice, "ain't been smokin' so I'm not wheezing and sweating" walk that is. So, yes, I've made it another day with no spliffs, and feel good about that. However, I haven't been to the gym and that's starting to yank my chain, I'm changing my schedule to work out in the am on Saturday and that should get the ball rolling. Or me rolling if I don't cuz' I'll be gettin' round.

Day 13, Friday, February 8

Jeez, came so close to snaggin' some camels on the way home, in a foul humor need to chill out. Forgot what a trigger stress was with the smoking thing, but it is baby, and the only reason I'm not layin' on the couch suckin' a brew with one smoke in my mouth and two in my fingers is knowing I was going to write this thing tonight. Gonna' grab some shuteye and will tell ya' about my day tomorrow.

Day 14, Saturday, February 9

Big test today, and as it turned out, not much of a challenge (this time, gotta' keep reminding myself it's only been 14 days and I've been a junkie a lot longer than that). It was Randy's birthday and after a long day of office work (hate workin' the weekends) I was lookin' forward to hangin' with the family. Fred and Trish drove up from Richmond and their boxer Roy was visiting so with him and Rudolf, I had all the dog fix I'll need for a few weeks. The "test" part was that I haven't been in a "smokers den" as it were since I started this whole quit kick, and I was headed into the smoky heart of darkness. Diane, Trish and Fred were all blowin' off spliffs the way one does when one parties (two weeks ago I would've out-smoked 'em). And, again, it's funny but I didn't have an inkling of a desire to suck one down. Sure, I'm still doin' the patch and gettin' all the nicotine you'd get from a pack and half of smokes (hence not feelin' cocky yet), but the idea that I wouldn't even have a tiny hankering is something I wouldn't have even have guessed at a month ago. Go figure (dude, if you're thinking of quitting, do it, if I can do it any vertebrate can).

Day 15, Sunday, February 10

Had the worst pancakes EVER at brunch today, I think they're experimenting with using crushed drywall as the "secret" ingredient. I mean, come on, how do you mess up pancakes? Go to the store and get the Bisquick Shake 'n Pour brand, "just add water" baby, and don't make my breakfast ass. Yeesh. Anyway, had an interesting morning meditating and chatting with my friend Todd about addictions and what you need to do to kick 'em, as we walked around the lake in Greenbelt. Didn't smoke, and lemme' tell ya after those pancakes I was giving it some serious thought.

Day 16, Monday, February 11

Nyah, what a stinky day, had to drop the hammer on a complex project for work and I pretty much just sat in front of the computer in my apartment from 7 to 7, grabbed some dinner with Heather (went to Rita's Place, oh god, how I love Rita's it ain't nothing but awesome subs and pizza and decorations that seem to have a loose horse and Redskins motif, but really just looks like they're hiding the walls). Dropped Heather off at her house, came back and worked another hour or so then passed out. No smokes, plenty of patch absorption, another two weeks with the 21 mg patch then down to 14 mg on the 3rd of March. Also, this is the last time I'm going to mention this, but if I don't go to the gym today, I'm going to bloat to the size of a beached manatee.

Day 17, Tuesday, February 12

No smoky smoke for Johnny, this seems to be going pretty well but it's a long haul. Strange conflation of days yesterday, Chinese New Year, Fat Tuesday and Lincoln's birthday. This had narrative value only in that it was also Nicole's birthday and along with eight of our friends we met at our favorite Vietnamese place, which was closed for New Year's...what's up with that? Anyway, we hit Nam Viet around the corner and it was ass, always have a plan b baby.

Day 18, Wednesday, February 13

Had a clarifying moment today, I've been wondering why I've been so annoyed with work lately and in a conversation with my last project manager I got it. I'm a sucker. It's nobody's fault, just a truly Kafkaesque convergence, where by pursuing advancement and promotion and "succeeding" I've managed to up my responsibility quotient without earning additional money, not the capitalist ideal. What a 'tard. But like all revelations of value, this should have some long term benefits. Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice...well you know. If I don't want to smoke on a day like this, I've got a shot at kickin' this habit.

Day 19, Thursday, February 14

Been working like some kind of domesticated farm animal this week, if it ain't one thing it's another and frankly I'm getting tired of working as a concept. Being a bum, on the other hand, is starting to look terribly attractive. Had dinner with Sandra, talked a bit about what's goin' on in her life, and frankly I'll take my uninteresting life any day. She was nice enough not so fire up a Marlboro in the truck, which I'm sure she was craving after the Chianti. Ugh, well back to work on the work demo...jeez, I swear it's Thursday and I've already clocked 60 hours on this beast. Grumble. But I ain't smokin'.

Day 20, Friday, February 15

Saw and old friend (he's a Hoosier by choice, hence the rarity of our visits) for drinks this evening. I'm tellin' ya this damn patch one powerful mamajamma, cuz' I was drinking this "mochatini" thing last night that would really taste sweet with a smoldering Camel and I didn't even think about bummin' a smoke off the other junkies at the bar. Met the most delightful young woman who was our server, named Christian, a good ol' DC girl (first generation, her fam's from Nicaragua). A real beauty, but most of all, a truly sweet person. I meet so many people who are just lunkheads that when I meet someone who just seems to be enjoying her job and yakkin' it up with a couple of crazy old guys, I'm reminded that an evening out can be something more than a catalog of ill-bred, no-home-trainin' mofo's seeking to reverse evolution by sowing their alcohol soaked demon seed.

Day 21, Saturday, February 16

Worked all goddamn day goddammit and it was a goddamn beautiful ass day goddamnit. It's 5:30 and I'm off to meet my parents and sister/bro-in-law for dinner out in (god help me) Warrenton. The dinner and company will be delightful, but after 11 hours in front of this soul sucking machine, the two hour round trip will not be as amusing as it could be. Why do I do this, work like a farm animal? It's not like people like it when you're really dedicated, it just wigs them out thinking somebody will ask them to do it. But if we all did it, nobody would have to. Bah, I'm just bitter, I'd better get outta' here.

Day 22, Sunday, February 17

Holy Smokes, had a great time last night but, jeez, had a hard time gettin' started today. Karen's prune chicken thing was most excellent, as were all the meal peripherals. As usual, it was the company that made the night, I'm blessed with a delightful family, my only lament being that we aren't a little closer together (especially the Colorado camp). But hey, can't have everything. Had drinks with Mike again, lots of "serious" talk, plenty of random flirting by me. God there are such lovely and charming women in this town. One thing that bugs me is when I see a kitty smoking, cuz I could so easily be drawn to the dark-side by the right redhead. But I'm still clean baby.

Day 23, Monday, February 18

Nice early day with Todd, though it began much later than I had anticipated. But it gave me a chance to pay the bills and pry the dried pasta from the walls in the weekly cleaning ritual. We got our oil changed, hit the Silver Diner for brunch, then took a walk down to Roosevelt Island. The "Island" is an outdoor temple to Teddy R., and is, with the exception the Lincoln Memorial the most perfectly designed monument in a town of monuments. Started reading Michael Chabon's "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay" around 3:00 and promptly passed out (the bod's really missing being able to use cigs as a spot stimulant, the patch is too smooth). I was awakened moments later by Heather's call, she was all energetic and wanted to "do" something so I dragged my tired carcass out to a movie (Count of Monte Cristo) and we did some coffee at Xando's. Pretty much went face down and chewed pillow after that.

Day 24, Tuesday, February 19

No smoking and, god, am I tired. I'm going to bed on time, for the right amount of time, and arising tomorrow with a good attitude. Picking Jenny up at the hotel for an AM workout at the office (good gyms there) so that should prevent me from wussing out. Fingers feel like sausages, not sure why the heavy fatigue, but the adjustment in the nicotine has to be playing a part. I've gotta' get psyched for the nic cut-down on March 3 cuz if I don't I'll be smoking by March 4. A side note, I worked so much last week I spaced out or simply wasn't present for Nicole's or Mia's birthday's at the office and felt like a complete wank. At the end of the work day today, ran to the grocery and got 'em both some balloons, teen magazines, snickers, peppermint patties and grocery store toys (my favorite). Love those birthday smiles.

Day 25, Wednesday, February 20

Worked out finally, and hope to keep that up to avoid fatboy status for months to come. Strange day at the office, it's an annoying time and won't get un-annoying for awhile. May have to use my new smoke-free body to get a job elsewhere, but a lot of the new initiatives look promising and if we get the right people in place it'll all work out. Very tired, need coffee, talk to ya' later.

Day 26, Thursday, February 21

Another day in the gym, so that's a big "2" in a row, which is a necessary step toward three so I'm not complaining. Need to get serious about my diet, this past weekend (in spite of or because of I'm not sure) I didn't go to the grocery, didn't cook anything and didn't plan what I was to eat. The result was some serious junk food chowing and late evening dinners. And if you're thinking about quitting and don't want to pack on massive poundage, believe me, plan your meals. I think I've put on ten pounds this week alone, jeez.

Day 27, Friday, February 22

Left my most recent project at work, and am off to the next, doors closing and opening, new roads to trod, blah blah blah. Why do I work anyway? I could be bum, a good bum, stay pretty clean, I've rid myself of most of my bad personal habits that would make me an annoying bum. But I'm cursed by the middle-class gene and I'll keep sloggin' through the life of a consultant till I'm doing some other form of revenue generation. But, in my best Scarlet O'Hara, as god as my witness I'll make money as an artist (a real one, not a corporate one) or die tryin. Why I'm being so gloomy today I have no idea, but I got no time to edit these entries, so you're gettin' it straight from the cerebellum. Toodles.

Day 28, Saturday, February 23

Stay tuned. This, and all of the following entries are being written on Thursday, February 28 cuz' I got all lazy. Anyway, now that I think about it, I've got no time to deal with this. I'll hit it tonight, but no cigarettes were used during the past week.

Day 29, Sunday, February 24

Didn't smoke. Bade farewell to my best friend as he heads off for a new chapter of life beginning in Pittsburgh and ending in either Las Vegas or Los Angeles. I'll miss him, but this area hasn't been much of an inspiration for him and perhaps the new places will scratch the itch he's feeling.

Day 30, Monday, February 25

Didn't smoke. Taking week off from diary.

Day 31, Tuesday, February 26

Didn't smoke. Taking week off from diary.

Day 32, Wednesday, February 27

Didn't smoke. Taking week off from diary.

Day 33, Thursday, February 28

Haven't smoked yet. Taking week off from diary.

Day 34, Friday, March 1

Didn't smoke. Dinner with Jenny in Old Town Manassas. I'll write about this soon.

Day 35, Saturday, March 2

Didn't smoke. Yeah, well, I was sorely tempted, sorely tempted. It was a nasty rainy day, I had a bunch of new dvd's and something in my lizard brain was saying "drink beer, smoke cigs and watch movies". I came very close, even buzzed by 7-11 and gave a somewhat longing look at the brightly packaged death sticks. But, and I don't want to be cocky but it really feels this way, I just don't want to be that guy. I'm enjoying the knowledge that when people see me (and its hard to miss me cuz' I'm amazingly fat at the moment) they're seeing a guy who's not smoking. Not a guy hesitating in front of a doorway to get the last drag in, not a guy huddled against the cold as I stand outside my office like a retard, not a guy running to the gas station at 6:00 am cuz' I'm out of smokes and am ready for my morning coffee/cig "wake up". I did buy the beer though, and did chill out and watch Dirty Harry on dvd, so it wasn't a day of grand morality but hey it's all about baby steps.

Day 36, Sunday, March 3

What an ass day, didn't do a damn thing I wanted to. Got involved in some strange cleaning cycle beginning with laundry at 7:00 am and spiraled throughout the day. The wacky thing was the stove, the stove top really, must've spent two hours on that damn thing. Strange day, very low on motivation, very high on thinking about motivation. This week better kick ass or I'm gonna' be very depressed and annoyed with myself. Also, although I think I'll keep my schedule of having my birthday be my second nicotine free day, I did do something stupid (shocker). I still have two more 21mg patches, and I'm 'supposed' to be on the 14mg patches today. But given how much these babies cost (and the hellacious buzz they give me) I'm gonna' finish these off and shave off the days at the end of the process.

Day 37, Monday, March 4

Yumpin yimminey it's cold out, it was freakin' 60 degrees yesterday and now it's 24, I'm not smart enough to deal with these wild swings...I tell ya', if I was a mastodon I'd be embedded in a glacier right now. Anyway, I'm getting concerned about my focus, more precisely my ability to adapt effectively to alterations in my schedule. I'm trying to write a novel and frankly doing a piss poor job of it, and need to drop the hammer. Here's the big crux problem, I've convinced myself that there are three pillars to build on at this specific moment in life; exercise, work and writing the novel. These are supposed to be "fixed" items, where psychically they have coequal weight, so when making choices about writing it's the same commitment as work. And for whatever reason, I'm not making it happen. Well, Rome wernt bilt in no day, however the time-frame for the smoking cessation is the same time-frame for getting the rest of this stuff in order. Well, here's to focus, wish me luck.

Day 38, Tuesday, March 5

My dear, sweet friend Sharon joined me for lunch today and as always, was a delight. She's been too long in Switzerland, and the light of her presence is missed. However, we were served by Luis, a six foot transsexual, who was a little too perky. Now, I'm all for gender reassignment and everything, but you gotta' nail the voice and inflection. Call me an elitist, but I want my transsexuals to "pass", and that ain't gonna' happen if you go for the Rupaul "honey" angle. Well, whatever, didn't smoke and I'm feeling good about that now. Tomorrow's my last "super patch" day, and I'd best get focused, cuz' I do fear the cravings coming on. But you know, I'm also kind of looking forward to it, this has been too easy.

Day 39, Wednesday, March 6

Uh, oh. I'm way off task in terms of going to "step 2" in this process. I'm three days behind and fear I'm lovin' the high impact patch more than I think I do. Well, I'm out of the good ones today (have a few of the Safeway brand and I think I'd rather have the name brand with less nic than this backwater version). At least I now own the "step 2" patches, I'm sure I'll embrace the next step once I get goin'.

Day 40, Thursday, March 7

Massive tumult today. Like a retard, I forgot to put my lower nicotine "step 2" patch on at all, and went through the entire day without any nicotine for the first time in this no-smoking process. And, for the most part, the day went well. I didn't shake or particularly feel like I was missing anything. Until about 4:30, then I started having visions of buying a pack of Camels and a six-pack and having some kind of alcohol/tobacco orgy. And these were strong visions, I was well on the way to convincing myself that if I didn't backslide during this quit smoking process, well I just wouldn't be human. Jesus, this was a true junkie moment, my mind running through all the scenarios, hopping back and forth between "do it" and "what the hell are you thinking". The drive home from the office was torture, would I or wouldn't I? Like some poorly written melodrama, each turn of the trip offered temptation, 7-11 loomed like a floozy on my way home, a silent pusher beckoning to me. "Mmmmm c'mon in and grab some smokes, feel like an artist, be depressed, smoke and posture". Well, I'll need to give this the solid writing it deserves at some point, but for now just wanted to get the basic moment down. But, in case you're wondering, I type this without the clouds of smoke that were here 40 days ago. You know one thing that stopped me? This damn diary, knowing I'd have to fess up to being a wussie junkie, powerful thing the public declaration. And I'm 40 in 23 days and I really need to get beyond evenings like this, the grip of the weed is strong and it's easy to forget why you said good-bye.

Day 41, Friday, March 8

Goddamn me. I started with that damn fantasy about the beer and cigarettes again and I'll be damned if I didn't walk up to 7-11 and buy a pack of Camels. Lot of teeth gnashing later I ran the pack under a stream of tap water, dismembered them (rendering them un-smokable no matter how crazy I might be in the morning). Jesus, I'm so annoyed, not so much that I bought cigarettes, hell I've been doing that for 20 years, but that just cuz' I got my smoke jones on I forgot all the reasons why I'm not smoking. That kind of self-blinding mechanism is a terrible thing, we all have it, and we should all confront it at some point in our lives. Figure out how we do it, how we program our minds to make any behavior "right" as long as you look at it in a certain way. The same kernel that grows into "hey, I'm oppressed, I'll kill others and be beloved of God" sends the signal that "smoking makes me feel good" in my mind, some kind of lizard brain thing that let's us rationalize our most self-destructive behaviors as freedom. I need to ruminate more on what transpired this evening, cuz' this can't happen again, at least with any frequency. That those smokes wound up in the trash tonight is only an effect of my ego, in the end, I didn't want to have to admit that I couldn't make a promise to myself that I wouldn't smoke for 70 days and stick to it. On another night, if I let myself entertain the pull, I'd be on my 14th cig by now.

Day 42, Saturday, March 9

Had some kind of capitalist meltdown today, I was buying anything I could get my hands on, shoes, pants, ironing board, books (oh god I love a bookstore on a rainy Saturday...and they love me baby), mats for the truck. I was a one man economic recovery, foolish to be certain, but I couldn't help myself. Keep having these grand visions of pulling all the pieces of my discombobulated life together, and I've got the blueprint now I need the mental toughness do drop the hammer. I've got all kinds of excuses, good ones too, but quittin' the smokes is only step one. A tough step, but one nonetheless.

Day 43, Sunday, March 10

Hooked up with the family today (well, Ma, Pa, Karen, Leslie, Josh and Luke) at Fuddruckers (obesity made fun) which gave us a chance to catch up a bit. During lunch Diane called and said they'd sold the house, and my parents have decided on the extended care community (whatever they call those things), both of which means everybody getting further out in the country and I fear fewer and fewer chances to get together. Broke down and bought some DVD's I really didn't need but I got an animation Jones that wouldn't quit so I picked up "Tarzan", "The Iron Giant" and "The Thing" and shook a bit at the amount of money I've spent over the weekend. Oh well, at least I didn't smoke!

Day 44, Monday, March 11

Ow. Woke up with a serious pinched nerve in my neck and let me tell ya', that'll put you in a foul humor. It was ill-timed because today was my big "change of life" day, part of which was morning exercise, and that didn't happen. Damn. Anyway, just worked then came home and fired up the heating pad. Such a wussie. No smokes.

Day 45, Tuesday, March 12

Neck's better, long day at the office, cloudy, rainy, perfect day to curl up with some booze and smokes...and until I just wrote that line it didn't cross my mind! The first few days of the lower impact patch (14mg) were terribly difficult, resulting in a serious two day close call and has resulted in my redoubling my efforts to look at all the nooks and cranny's of my life to see where the triggers are (beyond the physical addiction), but hell, I haven't smoked for 45 days and it's been 15 years since I could say that.

Day 45, Wednesday, March 13

Lazy, didn't smoke, didn't write either.

Day 46, Thursday, March 14

Work's terribly dull and grinding at the moment and that's today's excuse for not writing anything. No smoke.

Day 47, Friday, March 15

I may have to start making things up, this has been a tough week to keep up with this damn diary thingy. At least I haven't had anymore dreams of smokin', which is a good sign. Later gator.

Day 48, Saturday, March 16

Gotta' get a maid or something cuz' I spend way too much damn time cleanin' and ironin'. Jesus, I feel like June Cleaver with a serious thyroid problem. Blew almost the entire day taking care of nonsense, and, when I went to do my laundry I saw yet another byproduct of quitting the smokables. I ain't got no change. Laugh if you will, but as an apartment dweller quarters possess a value beyond gold...well if you want clean socks they do. And now that I don't shuffle into 7-11 everyday, fanning my greasy dollars for boxed pre-smoke, I just don't have any change. Well, if the price of not wheezing like a beached manatee is an extra trip to the bank for a roll of quarters, I'm all over it baby. Peace out.

Day 49, Sunday, March 17

My brother's 49th birthday, and my sister's 48 tomorrow, in two weeks all the Gillis youngun's will be in their forties. On the one hand this is a delightful thing, on the other, aging sucks. But it does beat the current alternative, so I was delighted to spend the day with the family to celebrate. A funky day, grey, sky fitfully attempting tempest status, but failing dismally settling upon the kind of cool early spring day well crafted for lethargy. Either alone or in groups. Everybody seems to be doing well, and the nephews are looking strong. I'm just thinking, out of the six of us, we've now got three ex-smokers (yeah, I'm being a little cocky but I'm in the mood) and three puffers. Maybe in the coming year we can tip the scales, I think we could all use the extra cash.

Day 50, Monday, March 18

"Take my shoes off, and throw them in the lake, and I'll be, two steps on the water." Like many of Kate Bush's lyrics, simultaneously opaque and accessible. I popped the "Hounds of Love" CD on for the first time in perhaps a year or more and I'm reminded of how rare such women are. Beautiful women who also create in a compelling way, of course now that I think about it there aren't that many hunky guys who create in particularly compelling ways either. I'll never forget seeing Kate Bush on a Saturday Night Live when I was young, she was performing something about "rolling the ball" and while it seemed beyond absurd to my rock-addled head, I couldn't take my eyes off of her. Beauty is one thing, but it's not by its nature compelling, riveting, but this nutty, writhing Brit had me transfixed. Being an artist has any number of built in psychoses, but one that's almost hard wired is the vision of meeting fellow artists (preferably cute girl artists) and drinking and smoking the night away, exchanging glances, ideas and touch. And, this just came to me and I have no idea why I find it interesting, but I don't think I ever thought that Kate Bush smoked and that somehow I knew I'd never meet her socially as a result. Now that I think of it, I need to recapture some of that youthful arrogance, the idea that my talent would eventually put me in the company of such people as a matter of course. Jeez, better get some sleep, gettin' punchy. And don't get me started about Tori Amos, what a kitty, meow, and such an operatic mind.

Day 51, Tuesday, March 19

(I'm writing everything from here down on March 26, cuz' my nephew Ellory rightfully called me to task in an email this morning. Unfortunately, I have no recollection of what I did on this particular Tuesday, except I didn't smoke and as best I can tell I broke no state or federal laws.)

Day 52, Wednesday, March 20

Worked an absurdly long day today, 18 hours and I'm not amused. Wanna' know what I do with my days, what such a creative genius does for his outrageously high salary? I try to fit 10 pounds of doody into a 5 pound bag, that's what, click here and you'll see what I mean. Sure, unless you're a bent-nosed collections agent for a large financial institution, this will make no sense to you, but you'll get an idea of how action packed an 18 hour day can be.

Day 53, Thursday, March 21

Woohoo, only 16 hours today! Well, harsh deadlines are a part of my business and frankly, as dull as the link I gave above may seem to you it's a damn good design solution given the crazy restraints associated with this project. But this gives me a chance to mention one of the huge contributing factors to my life of smoking. What I do for a living, at a real core level, is sit for long periods of time staring at a stationary object. Be it a computer, a drafting table or an easel there is nothing, and I mean nothing better suited to smoking than the artist lifestyle. So, you'll excuse me being a bit braggadocios when I point out that after two days, 34 hours of high stress, higher boredom hammer-dropping production I didn't even think about puffin. Drinking, yeah I thought about drinking, but no smoking.

Day 54, Friday, March 22

Passed out early, the old bod didn't like the last couple of days and wanted sleep. And my mind didn't object.

Day 55, Saturday, March 23

My friend Heather called for an impromptu trip down to the Mall (the nation's playground), and as I almost always do, I was kicking myself for not visiting more often. It's far from a huge investment of time, taking all of, say 15 minutes to get down there on the subway. Anyway, it was a beautiful day and was also the kickoff of the annual cherry blossom festival, marked by a kite rally on the mall. And it was a spectacular sight, the sky filled with brightly colored paper and sticks and the faces of adults and children wearing expressions from fear to exasperation to triumph. Often within seconds of the other. Unfortunately Heather had this idea late in the day (around 4:00) and by the time we decided to "do" something, things started shutting down. Comically so. We go to the Washington Monument, both psyched to walk up the stairs to the top and see if any arteries burst, 4:30, closed. Walking up the mall I'm reminded of a kick-ass show of "Goya's Women" at the National Gallery, 5:00 closed, hordes of people exiting the museum note my folly. Then we hit the Air and Space which is open till 5:30 but there's a real strong "get the hell out of here" vibe as you might suspect. September 11 has brought a mess of new security to the mall, and there was a major wanker in front of us getting all mad cuz' he kept beeping and they wouldn't let him and his kids through. Note to White America: Black government workers at the end of a busy day are very, very unlikely to be impressed by you bleating on about "speaking to their supervisors", actually that goes for any color of tired government employees, but if you're looking for results being a dick is probably one of your least likely roads to success. Heather and I helped a visiting couple find some good food as they fretted about "catching their bus in an hour and half", ahh the tourist, the sweet terrified tourist, ya' gotta' love 'em. We passed the set of an Al Pacino movie on the way back to the subway, lingered for awhile thinking we may see a scene get acted out but alas were simply treated to the spectacle of how many people it takes to shoot a movie scene. Pretty interesting nonetheless. Hopped on the wrong train on the way home, which in a perverse turn, was actually the "right" train if one were to use the shortest trip home as your metric.

Day 56, Sunday, March 24

Stepped down to the 7mg patch to head to the home stretch of this smoking cessation thing, was so busy trying to get my chores done I really didn't notice. Finally got birthday gifts for Charlie and Karen, which have yet to be sent, I had everything planned so well and the next thing I knew it was time to sleep. I swear I need a maid.

Day 57, Monday, March 25

Forgot to affix the patch this morning and didn't notice till I got home. I feel good, confident now, that this is over. That as long as I remind myself through strenuous activity at least four times a week, I'll never pick up those goddamn weeds again. I do miss it, don't get me wrong, but the only place for smokes is if you're gonna die anyway and you're just looking for something to kill time with. I do love the affect of smoking, but the reality is simply nasty, and we all need to distinguish fantasy from reality every now and then.

Day 58, Tuesday, March 26

Not much on the plate today, regular work day and terribly uninspired evening. My sleeping patterns are horribly out of whack, I've been awaking earlier and earlier (2:00 and 3:00am, too early to hop up and start the day, but too late for me to fall asleep again), and I've been visited by dreams that are simply too opaque and deceptively banal to do justice here. They're whack as, I believe, was the lingo recently. Well, gotta' run, I have some serious Raymond Chandler to read, "Farewell My Lovely". Written in 1940, this is perhaps the most raw of the Chandler oeuvre, full of the straightforward racism and sexism of the day, not a pretty time but as always with America, full of great lingo to go with the ugliness. One of my favorite lines? "Dames lie about anything — just for practice." I might have to use that in my next staff meeting, just to see what happens.

Day 59, Wednesday, March 27

Dreams. Dream dream dream, dreeeeaaaam...the Everly Brothers make them sound so pleasant. They ain't been in my head lately. These dreams gotta go! It's really getting spooky. Lemme' just lay it out and you can draw your own conclusions.

I'm falling, just falling in a free fall, not particularly concerned about it, just fallin'. Then, in a seamless move from the fall I'm behind the wheel of my truck in mid-drive. And out of the corner of my eye, I spot a gym, and I stop the truck and back up. It's a Gold's Gym (my current brand) and I'm convinced this club is owned by my old boss. Peculiar given that we weren't Gold's but hell it's a dream. Now, the crazy thing is, that this is Indiana (my manifest nightmare) but rendered as Virginia. This, more than anything else in the dream disturbs me, the conflating of beauty with horror within my own psyche...but I digress. Then I'm just poking around the gym, like a phantom because people don't seem to be taking any note of me, then I'm working out in full gym clothing, then I'm not, back in my street clothes. Then I'm looking into the "office" (which in itself was ridiculous, because the frosted glass enclosure into which I was peeking was far too elegant and expensive for any gym, there were two men working phones, who both looked at me simultaneously impassively, then looked away. At that moment, a pretty female gym employee (with that sort of earnestly blank look so ubiquitous in Indy) asked if I wanted a tour, and I said no I was looking for my friend Jeff. She said "well, there's no Jeff here", and I thank her and leave. What the hell kind of dream is that? And why was it so amazingly vivid? It's boring, like some kind of Ur dream of Indiana!

But wait, there's more. Again (and this is more tenuous, but I still believe it's true) the setting is Indianapolis but all the details are Virginia. I'm coming home from work, I enter a building that looks like my current dwelling only to find myself in a corridor around an open, courtyard, much like a modern interpretation of the villas in Pompeii. The building, like my own, is two stories tall, so the courtyard is small, contains a picnic table, tree and some small amount of landscaping. It isn't more than twenty yards square. The corridor is all glass, the view into the courtyard is uninhibited and there's a woman there. I continue to walk the corridor and look at the woman, she's looking very intently at everything in the courtyard, and I'm looking intently at her. Then I realize she's an admin staff person from my current office, and I say "hi" and ask what she's doing. She then informs me she's looking for a place to go to the bathroom, because she's here to visit a friend and she doesn't trust "city" toilets. I assure her, that city toilets are most excellent and even offer my own for here use vouching for it's cleanliness. She says thank you but no, the look on her face shows she clearly thinks me mad, and returns to her search. I turn and begin the walk to my home, muttering "those goddamn Hoosiers" under my breath, and shaking my head ruefully.

Again, I ask you, what the hell kind of dreams are these?!? I mean, they suck (in terms of simply being dull), while simultaneously being so vivid and intense that I arise from deep sleep with a start. Is this some kind of nicotine withdrawal, some terribly pale version of the night terrors I've heard associated with heroin withdrawal? And why Hoosiers? That's like dreaming of being attacked by threatening bags of Wonder Bread, no wait, that would be interesting. Anyway, these things manifested these past two nights and I'm not looking forward to this evening's slumber. Pray for me.

Day 60, Thursday, March 28

Got some interesting interpretations of the dreams above, one which I thought was so interesting because I certainly saw no connection between the dreams and smoking cessation. However, my friend Todd said he saw my "toilet" as not smoking and it's cleanliness an indication of the success I've been having in getting rid of it. I'm just glad to see that they appear to have left me, for now at least, but I'm not getting cocky. My life's boring enough, and I rely on my dreams to deliver the patina, illusory though it may be, of excitement. Had a simply charming 18 hour workday (a primo day to smoke, like, three packs of cigs and I had nary a twinge of desire...so again, all junkies hear me, not only can you do it, it can become a memory), and tomorrow doesn't look much better, but hey a buck's a buck. Toodles.

Day 61, Friday, March 29 (Last Day using 'The Patch')

Ugh, 14 hours today, and am I tired! Made the huge mistake of thinking that if I got to the office by 5:45 I'd be able to knock out what needed knocking. Silly Rabbit, tricks are for kids. Just got finished and my eyes are a little twitchy. Want a beer but don't have the energy to twist the top off. Face down time.

E-Day, Saturday, March 30!

It's a little early, but I really don't think I'll be on the computer much today, and wanted to note that after 61 days, this is my first (on purpose) without nicotine and anticipating that there will be none again. Who's to say if I touch tobacco again, but my new focus is on health and strength (this extra poundage will require the same focus that smoking did) which carries with it serious challenges, and frankly I can't see how smoking (or chewing or dipping or snuffing or any other form of delivery system) will fit in. I'll need to continue to remind myself how long it took for the phlegmy rattle to leave, and the smell, cuz' I do love smoking. But we can't have all the things we love, lest we cease to value love.