After 23 years of
being a non-smoker, I still get the random urge to light up. I know what to do
when the devil sneaks up on me; I do something for 7 minutes – exercise, FaceBook,
shower – anything but stick a fag in my mouth and puff away.
Why did I quit? I
was supposed to go to lunch with a friend and I told her that I’d drive,
because I couldn’t go the 10-minute distance without a smoke. She didn’t allow
smoking in her car. Pathetic.
It was hell
quitting. I was supposed to visit another friend in Northern California. We had
planned the visit months ahead of time. But when I walked out of the shower on
that fateful day a non-smoker, I just couldn’t visit my dear 3-packs-a-day
smoker friend. Just couldn’t do it.
So, I planned on
going to a spa in Northern California for three days instead. With my car
packed for a month, I headed north. Mind
you, I’m jonesin’ for a smoke! I’m all but shaking. My favorite place to
smoke was in the car, while driving. I made it an hour away from home, with
only 7 more hours left to reach the spa. Should
I go? Should I go back home? What should I do? My mind was a mess. I wanted
a smoke so bad. When I reached the turnoff to zip up the freeway north, I
froze. I said, Hell with it, I’m going
home! And I turned off the freeway and headed back south!
Now here’s when my
story gets unbelievable. When I reached the freeway going east to my dot on the
map, I froze again. I’ll go to the spa in
San Deigo! And I steered my little VW Rabbit south.
Up and down the
freeways I went. I was a lunatic but I finally stayed the course to San Diego.
Now this spa is
world-known, high class and expensive. I didn’t care, I was worth it. When I
pulled into the reception area in my dusty Rabbit, I pulled behind a Rolls Royce,
a Jaguar, and a Benz.
Intimidating.
A friend told me to
say hi to anyone and everyone, introduce myself as just having quit smoking. I
did just that at the reception desk, ‘Hi, I’m Lucy and I just quit smoking.’
The girl behind the desk laughed and said, ‘I wish I could quit.’ She
disappeared behind a door. A minute
later she came back trailed by a man in a spiffy tailored suit; the manager.
‘Congratulations, I quit 3 months ago,” he said shaking my hand vigorously.
And then he gave me a deluxe room for a standard room rate. Not bad. I’d spa in style!
Once in the actual
spa; rooms of white chic tile, I was shuffled into a steam room with several
other ladies. All wrapped in giant white towels, like myself, with white
turbans on their heads, not like myself. I did my, ‘Hi, I’m Lucy and I just
quit smoking’ intro, but I don’t think they cared. They weren’t there with
smoking problems; it looked like they all just had plastic surgery. Oh, well. I didn’t need them.
For three days I
spa’d; had massages, milk baths, steam room. I only wore street clothes when I
dined. Dined on fancy veggies, albeit steamed veggies, and little bites of fresh
fish.
I still had the
urge to smoke, but with a towel on that had no pockets, it wasn’t a choice.
Besides, their gift shop didn’t tell cigarettes. Of course I checked!
When the 3 days
were over, I didn’t faint over the bill. I choked a little, but I didn’t regret
it at all. The Rabbit packed, I headed north. But again I was indecisive on
whether I was ready to go home to my old habits. What to do?
I decided to head
north to visit my daughter and stop along the way and tell everyone everywhere that I had
just quit smoking! That was my plan.
My first stop was
Hearst Castle in San Simeon, where the people on the tourist bus learned of my
plight! People were sympathetic as they; wished they could quit, had already
quit, or never smoked. I could have cared less about the grandeur of Hearst
Castle, I just wanted a pat on the back. An ‘Atta girl!’ acknowledgment.
Next stop, Carmel,
to the darling guesthouse that I spent my 2nd honeymoon in with my 2nd husband. It was offseason
and the woman was so excited to see a non-smoking returnee to her place that she
gave me a fab room at a giant discount!
After Carmel, I
stayed overnight in Santa Barbara, walking the length of State Street; the main
street that leads to the ocean. Visiting each shop on the way down to the water,
I sowed my story to anyone who’d listen. People were great and talking and
walking kept me from smoking.
By the time I drove up to my daughter’s house I was pretty much over the hump. Instead of getting
urges every few minutes, they happened here and there. By that time, I’d
figured out the seven-minute-diversion-thing during an urge and so I was
confident that I could actually return home a non-smoker.
Here’s the rub--I’ve
quit smoking 5 times. I don’t kid myself; I’m addicted to nicotine big time and it’s
sure death for me to smoke one cancer stick and think I can get away with it!
So, 23 years and
counting. Atta girl!
When my friend comes over, I make her smoke outside.
I should make her clean the ashtray, too!
Gross!
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photography website at: http://www.shadetreeSL.com
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