Yesterday I passed the twenty week mark, I can not quite believe that the edgy, frantic quitter of August has developed a calmer, more tolerant side to her personality. I managed to do most of my xmas shopping on Saturday, walking through town with 8 heavy bags, smokers aplenty about and instead of scowling at them whilst thinking "Don't you know how stupid you look and how dangerous those things are?, and do you really need to sit down and puff on those flaming things when I'd quite like a little break without having to inhale your smoke, selfish people!!!" I just hefted my bags into one of the gaps on the benches, flexed my fingers until they changed back to flesh colour from bright purple and most of the ridges went, toyed with the idea of grabbing a coffee then picked everything back up again and made a dash for the car, which was parked just under a mile away, without any further breaks to get my breath back either. It was only that I was telling a colleague about how sore my elbows are today that I thought about how I practically "tuned" out the smoke. In the early days of my quit I couldn't tolerate seeing or being near a smoker, it wasn't that I wanted one but that seeing a lit one made me think I was missing something, now my brain has obviously moved on to the next level I don't even get upset now that the OH is smoking (apart from the fact he stinks). And my reward when I got home Saturday? A large cup of Carte Noir coffee and a Mr Kipling mince pie. It's amazing how these little things keep taking me by surprise, but at the same time I'm loving them, they keep the "newly quit" zeal alive, they feed my determination to beat the demon once and for all and they keep reminding me just how worth it this is.