Yesterday was a very special day. A day that is all my own. Yes, I still texted two of my closest friends to say “Wake up, Wake up, Wake up… it’s the first of the month.” It is our tradition. And yes, Mr. O did wake me up by singing it too. I’m a very lucky little lady.
Anyway, November 1st is the day I quit smoking four whole years ago. Did I ever think I’d make it to year four without one drag of a cigarette? Nope. My last cigarette ended at 10:41am on Thursday, November 1, 2011. I remember that moment very clearly. I gave my boss my lighters (I wanted to keep my cigarettes, and I did. They’re still packed away in a memory box. Weird, why haven’t I gotten rid of them yet?) and I went outside to sit in my car and smoke my last cigarette. It was raining. And that, my friends, was that. No more smoking.
Have I missed it? Yes, I have. But fortunately, the past two-three years have been relatively easy. Smoking bothers me now. I don’t like it. I don’t like to be around it. I still love cigarettes in a weird and twisted way, but I’m glad it is no longer part of my life.
So, cheers to me. I’m very proud of myself.