It's ridiculously expensive. Just...too much. It's time to do something about it. It'd be nice to not depend on something like that too, but I'm not going to lie. The cost is my major reasoning right now. Yes I know all the other reasons to quit. I'm not interested in all the rah-rah stuff. It costs too much, and that's a good enough reason for me.
For anyone that knows me, I have a sticker...thing. I don't like 'em. At all. Or anything sticky touching me. It's my one true phobia, and it can be paralyzing. When the kids come home from school with them...especially if they're on their skin, holy shitsnacks does that fuck me up. Straight up panic attack.
There's a reason I mention this.
If you hook up with the NY Smoker's Quitline, which is a wonderful resource, they'll send you the nicotine patches for free. Awesome, right?
Patches.
That stick to you.
With adhesive.
Yeah. Not a fan. I did try it though. I finished up a pack around 7pm Thursday night, and put the patch on first thing in the morning Friday.
Then I sat on the floor of the bathroom panting hysterically. Not good. At all. I could hear the The Crying Game song in my head. Which doesn't really apply, but I was feeling violated.
I sucked it up though, and headed off to work. I'm not going to lie. It was horrible. The morning especially. I told more than one person that I would punch a baby for a cigarette. (ed. - He actually wouldn't punch a baby, he likes to have fun with shocking statements. Complete toolbag. Well...maybe...if the baby were like some kind of freak half-alien half-sticker baby. Or a complete sticker-baby. That would be ok, right? If you can't tell by now, I don't really have an editor. I'm the editor. And I MAAAAY be trying to come up with a way to justify those horrible statements from Thursday.)
The afternoon, though, my anxiety over having THE MOST HORRIBLE THING THAT COULD BE ON MY BODY actually on my body became worse. Luckily, I had a doctor's appt. at 4. Maybe the doc could help me out here.
She laughed at me.
Not alot, mind you, she did keep professional decorum. But she was laughing on the inside. I could tell by the sly smile. She was rolling internally. I could smell the judgment coming from her. Smelled like a doctor's office, actually. Good to know, for next time I'm being judged.
After she was done judging me, the doctor prescribed Chantix. She gave me the full side-effect rundown. I wasn't really listening. I'm a man (when stickers aren't involved), and men don't get side-effects. All I was thinking was INEEDTOGETTHISDEMONICADHESIVEOFFMYSKINBEFOREIMURDERSOMEONE.
I filled the script at Walgreen's and headed home. First thing through the door, that godforsaken patch was off my back and in the trash. I couldn't even look at it as I put it in the trash. I couldn't see through my hysterical tears as I had to touch it. With my fingers. There probably was squealing too. I've blocked it out.
I took the first dose and did some Chantix research on the intertubes and with some friends. Pretty much as a rule, everything said 'Keep smoking with this shit at first.' Supposedly, it works on some level by making you hate cigarettes. So, ok. Saturday morning I bought a pack and had my second dose of Chantix.
I'm not here to talk about that though. I'm here to talk about dreams. I don't remember my dreams, usually. In fact, I don't really remember any since I was a teenager or so. Of course I dream, everyone does, I just don't remember them.
I remembered last night's dreams. Vividly. It's one of those Chantix side effects, you might actually have more vivid nightmares or some such.
I didn't have nightmares, but these dreams were trippy. There are two in particular that were especially crazy.
Let's start with the less-insane one. I was at work. Kind of. It seemed like work, but everyone was in one room. Programmers, support people, the whole enchilada. We were working at tables. Our systems and stuff were there. I was sitting next to Phil. But, my mouse, and everything I clicked on, was showing on his monitors. It was weird. Plus, he was using a Mac, and saying we, the programmers, were all moving to Macs for development.
Here's where it got weird, though. Once an hour, we all had to switch spots. Like, Chinese fire drill style. I didn't understand that's what was happening though, so I stayed in one spot. I ended up with chicks all around me, some that worked there, but mostly they didn't. And once I looked around, this mixture was all over the room. All women, some that worked there, some that I knew from outside work, and some that I had never met before. I woke up at this point. Laughing.
The more insane one was much shorter. It was a sex dream (Steph...no jiggly gifs, I promise). I have no idea who the chick was that I was fornicating with, I can't even picture her now, I just know that I was really into it. And it was pretty mind-blowing, but every now and then, a friend of mine (you know who you are), would show up, all Hunter S. Thompson Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas looking, yelling out stuff like "Really, this is just terrible. Not hot at all." and being really pissed off about the whole thing. Like some super-intense porn director. "HOW CAN TWO ADULTS BE SO BAD AT MAKING THE SEX?!?!". The 'porn director' was sooo intense about it too. I couldn't stop laughing. In the dream. I was laughing. Hilariously.
I woke up from that one still laughing. It was awesome. It has to be the Chantix. I can't think of any other reason. Two dreams in the SAME NIGHT. I'm actually really excited for these dreams. I mean, yeah, not smoking anymore will be awesome, but remembering dreams? Awesome.
