Milestones

I've been smoke-free for a year! Hoorah! Honestly, after the horrendous shaking withdrawals, crying, learning how to drink without smoking, and general sadnesses of the first three months, the rest of this year has been pretty damned good and it hasn't been that hard not to smoke.

I don't know what this chick and I have in common other than we both wear bras that are too small. Ugh. Nonsmokers are so annoying.

Why can't people just be honest? It was fucking hard and smoking was great. That being said, my breath is not filled with ashes now. And sometimes it tastes like mint and tea tree oil. (I'm still finding macerated bits of wood in various purses from my tea tree oil-flavoured toothpick phase.) My room smells good, I can walk up flights and flights of stairs, and the weird darkness on both of my baby toenails is gone. I didn't gain weight, and I don't fear chest-rattling bronchitis every time I get a cold. If you were funny when you smoked, you'll still be funny when you quit, you'll just have two hands to use for physical humour and gesticulation instead of one and a wry cigarette. Oh, and your hangovers are just hangovers; no heavy chest to go with sore head and quease.
The best thing? You can still understand Maxine's humour as a nonsmoker.