Day two is rage, and itching desperation.
Here is a list of people  I’d root for a cigarette right now.

1.       A clown.  IT even... I’d root IT, red balloons floating all over the joint, “We all float down here” kind of shit. I’d go there..Now for those of you who know my very real, involuntary shaking, crying with tears, phobia of clowns, this means  times are tough.

2.       Kanye. On a motorbike.
 I’d root Kanye on a motorbike, with my tits jiggling about in front of a camera. My tits however, would look less like Kim’s and more like two undercooked poached eggs sliding down the side of my body, to rest somewhere underneath my arm pits. I would root Kanye on a motorbike with my tits sliding down my body, on camera, for a cigarette.  BAM.
And finally..

3.       Tony Abbott. 
I really should avoid ALL political talk on this blog, but that, my friends, is how desperate things are. Tony Abbott desperate. Do you want to know what Tony Abbot desperate is?

It’s day two..

This morning I thought briefly about looking in the outside bin for a half smoked bumper, and when I say ‘thought briefly’ I mean I stared at the outside bin for about 15 minutes. I walked over to the bin and lifted the lid. I calculated how far down in the bin they were, how much household filth was touching the butts and for how long.

My cravings tried to convince me that I just needed a few puffs to get me past this awful dull ache in my throat and chest. The ache that calls out to be burned with smoke and stung with sweet, sweet nicotine. The cravings that make me dread getting out of bed without the promise of that sting and crumple at the smell of my morning coffee.

My non smoker, withdrawal dementia is getting worse, I mean.. REALLY? The Bin!? Ummm.. Ever heard of Coles? Why was THE BIN, my first port of call?!? I can’t think properly,  my head feels foggy, my body is achy, and I am yet to feel any better.

How the fuck do people who don’t smoke get up and moving in the morning?

The good news is, that I didn’t smoke half smoked bin bumpers. I shut the lid and I had a mini adult tantrum, a knee jerking, fist balling, need to kick something moment, I said the word ‘C*nt’ really loud and I walked away.

So much winning.. I’m a winner people.

 I didn’t smoke those bin bumpers,  not because I didn’t want to, (how fucking disgusting is that!?!) but  because I don’t smoke anymore, and to be certain I didn’t get tempted again,  I emptied the kitty litter into the outside bin, over the top of all of the butts and poured some water over the whole damned lot.

There, Tony Abbott desperate. It’s covering half smoked bumpers FROM THE BINin Cat excrement and watering that bastard in, you know.. so you dont dig them out and put them in your mouth.. Faaaaark.

 Day two is hungry, ravished, ammonia scented, desperate and ugly.

The patches are helping with the cravings, not as much as I’d like. What I’d ‘Like” is to wake up craving free  and completely fresh, like a tampon commercial.. with zero need for self control.  But then they wouldn’t call it quitting would they? They would call it roller skating through a field of white flowers in a white dress. I don’t know.. I can’t think properly OK?!? Who. Fucking. cares.
The patches, they do help.

 They also itch like a bastard when I first put them on. They only itch for about five minutes, but in those five minutes, my brain tries to convince me that I am beginning to have an anaphylactic reaction to them, and therefore I need to remove it, have a cigarette and start quitting again tomorrow with something else.

I didn’t take the patch  off, because I don’t smoke anymore. Instead, I told myself that if I once survived  a whole 2 hour meeting,  wearing really thin synthetic underwear with cheap  pantyhose over the top, right after the first spikes of pubic hair grow back after a bikini shave, then I can get past five minutes of nicotine patch itching.

I’m REALLY sorry for that mental image.

I’m sleeping with the nicotine patch on, if you can call it sleeping..I don’t. Because  you don’t actually sleep with a nicotine patch on, you spend the night sweating your ass off, leg flailing, pillow pummelling and flitting between disturbing, vivid dreams ALL night.
I will suck it up though, because I can’t fathom waking up with the need for a cigarette without them yet, and the patches really do help take the edge off that.

So that’s day 2!

Its Tony Abbott, clown fucking, tits sliding, Kanye, cat shit, fanny itching rage and desperation.
But I made it..
Fuck. Everything.

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