What does Schmutzie do to keep from smoking for 20 days? She knits. A lot. Until her fingertips turn bright red and feel like they've been jackhammered by lilliputian construction workers.
Did you read that? TWENTY DAYS. I HAVE NOT SMOKED FOR TWENTY DAYS.
I wrote about quitting during the first week of it, at first waxing dramatic about how very hard it was not to chew my own fingers off, and then turning all hippi-love-and-oneness and talking about being true to myself. Since then, I've mostly veered away from the topic because 1) I didn't want both my blog and my Twitter feed to drone on ad nauseum about something I wasn't doing, and 2) my experience of quitting smoking got worse, and any lengthy discussion about it made me randomly hate whomever happened to be within my line of sight, which occasionally turned out to be the entire internet.
What? You are not a nicotine delivery system that I can light on fire and use to disable the cilia in my lungs? SCREW YOU.
Tomorrow will mark three weeks since I last had a cigarette, and although I would love to celebrate that event with half a package of my favourite Benson & Hedges Special Filter king size cigarettes, I can't, so I will likely end up eating junk food while watching rented movies and then knitting some more, because I've stocked up on some of my favourite yarn just to keep myself from thinking about my beloved Benson & Hedges Special Filter king size cigarettes, which will in turn make me think about the sweet Benson & Hedges Special Filter king size cigarettes that I am using the yarn to avoid, and pretty soon I will be apologizing to the Palinode for complaining about how I dropped a stitch, my coffee's gotten cold, the cat won't stop staring at me, and how this movie could have been better had the main character been played by less of a douchenozzle.
Apparently, after having been quit for 21 days, my acetylcholine receptor counts in my brain that up-regulated in response to nicotine's presence will have down-regulated, and my receptor binding will have returned to levels that are normally seen in the brains of non-smokers.
THAT MEANS NOTHING TO ME. If I could take these supposedly recovered acetylcholine receptors out of my head and see how much more sexy and attractive they are now that they aren't being bombarded by the evil poison nicotine, I might care, but, as it is, I will have just have me and my yarn and none of my darling and precious and dear Benson & Hedges Special Filter king size cigarettes.
Don't worry, though. I won't smoke. I'm just pissy about the fact that, after three weeks, I still find myself getting caught up in fantasies of rolling damp wads of cigarettes around in my mouth like they are chocolate lava cake.
Addiction doesn't have to make sense, people.
Anyway, the point to this entry, and it might surprise you, is that I have been knitting a lot, and the handwarmers featured here are my latest creation. They are my favourite pair to date, and, no, you can't have them. They are already spoken for and winging their way to an undisclosed location in the United States as I type this.
This post in brief: Despite its difficulty, I am still quit smoking, but, here, look at this beautiful thing I knit that you can't have. Na na na na na.