Romancing the Smoke

Apologies for the blatant movie title theft, (Romancing the Stone), but halfway through my third week, my brain seems dead set on doing just that. I survived withdrawal & the Massive, Bad Cravings. The Big Drama of a Quit is easing off. So... my brain is trying the enticing entrapment, the subtle seduction game. I've noticed that happening especially when the HALT conditions apply.

I picture a cigarette in my mind or one mysteriously 'flies' into my head. Never has cigarette paper looked so thick, so snowy & lush. It's packed fat with a generous helping of tobacco & if I allowed that, no doubt my mind would whisper: "This is the good stuff - ORGANICALLY GROWN. It's better for you!" Uh huh... The smell of tobacco has transmogrified into the subtle perfume of something exotic & expensive. I DESERVE to treat myself to such a wonderful product - I've worked so hard.

Oh, shut up, brain!

The last thing I need is to permit myself to listen to a self-advert created in my own demented mind. Thick, lush, exoric? Who am I kidding? The paper is as thin as they can make it & have the crap stick hold together. The tobacco is withered & dried & the only thing exotic about the smell is a more than passing familiarity to third world sewers.

The Nicodemon only has as much power as *I* choose to give it. I'll start by... removing the capital letter - nicodemon - there; that's cutting it down to size. That's one piece of nastiness that doesn't deserve to be place on a marble pedestal, to be viewed under soft lighting with a string quartet playing in the background.

You know what little master nicodemon is, really? He's a headstrong toddler with all the reasoning power of your average two year old. He stands there & roars: "I WANT! Gimme, gimme or I'll hold my breath until I turn blue!" He doesn't get what he wants so he flings himself on to the floor & drums his little fists & heels into the floor - pitching a massive wobbly. THAT I can deal with. I've raised children - successfully. And when they tried that on, they were unceremoniously packed away to their rooms, firmly peeled off me & told they were staying in their rooms until they could behave in a civilized fashion.

Poor little nicodemon - he's never going to grow up. He doesn't have a clue how to behave in a civil manner. So... he's never going to get to leave that room. In fact, increasingly I find he's taking up too much space & shortly, I shall be packing up his things & relegating them & him to an out of the way cupboard. I've got better uses for the space.

He doesn't look like a big, scary monster to me anymore. Rather, he's a sad cartoon charactor with a perpetual frown & every time he appears, he seems a little smaller. He's not quite as loud anymore either, although I'm sure there will be days when he's shrieking in my ear. Fine, if he wants to try that on - he'll get paddled!

After all, who's the adult?

4 Replies

  • My struggle with the fags is like another movie by Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas....War of the Roses LOL!.....gonna beat that f***ker with a chandelier in the end :)

    Lovely post CanadaSue.

    Lisa x

  • H A L T thanks for the reminder im all of those things together no wonder iv been thinking oh wouldnt a cigarette be nice. its all gone pete tong for me .

    Mash x

  • Obvious (especially this time of year) but...

    ...The Great Escape!!!

  • I love it when the exquisitly literate members do these posts that put into words just how you feel :D. Brilliant post Sue!

    Just to add to the movie theme, the fact that I have note smoked for three months........

    Miracle on 34th Street

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