It’s been 60 days since I have wrapped my lips around the end of a cigarette.

60 days of taking little blue pills that don’t cause erections.

60 days of eating non-stop and gaining about 15 pounds.

60 days of irrational fears surfacing either due to the meds I am taking to quit or the quitting itself.

60 days of waiting for this damn necklace to come in.

Has the 60 days of hell been worth it?

YOU DAMN STRAIGHT.

NaNaNaNaNa It’s my Quit Day too! *dances*

It’s not officially Friday yet, but I ran out of cigs and decided to get this party started.

I snuffed the life out of my closest friend tonight and I don’t feel bad about it. It’s him or me, damnit.

Tomorrow I will probably be searching the house and cars for that one loose cig that MIGHT be hanging around. It won’t be there. It never is, since I guarded those suckers with my life. I will stop and feel silly about it, then the panic will hit.

I know it’s coming.. I am prepared.

I have my Chantix and if worse comes to worse, I have nicotine gum that I haven’t used yet.

I know I joked about living in my bed but being that it’s the one place I’ve NEVER EVER smoked I might hide out in there for the first week. No memories to weaken me.

I never smoked in the kids rooms or the bathrooms but I don’t want to hang out in any of those places for a long amount of time. I only smoked in the kitchen if I was talking to my mom on the phone, but as Sheliza knows, I’m damn sure not gonna start camping out in there!

I took a picture of me and the last cigarette I will have ever smoked. It was a bittersweet Kodak moment.