I woke up this morning with Whiskey Kitty sleeping on my cheek so close I couldn’t tell if I was breathing in oxygen or kitten carbon dioxide. Either way, I survived the night. If I pass out one day, they’ll say it wasn’t cigarettes that did me in, it was feline fumes.
Mom and I went out to get the phone fixed, but no luck. The kind of errand that feels productive until it isn’t. I asked her if we could swing by Guitar Center, and she gently reminded me she’s not buying me a guitar. Fair enough. I could buy one myself, but we both agreed I should hang on to my savings. That money has a bigger mission waiting for it. This summer, I want to arrange a book signing at Vroman’s. Guitars can wait. Dreams with deadlines can’t.
The cravings have started sneaking back in, especially in the mornings and certain parts of the day when my guard is down. It’s strange how they show up like old acquaintances, knocking politely, pretending they’re just here to chat. But I know better now. Let this be the memory I keep close. I am never fully quit. Not in the fairy-tale sense where the dragon disappears forever. I’m quit in the real way, the human way. By learning to say no again and again when the cravings arrive wearing different costumes.
Today wasn’t heroic. No parade. No victory music. Just another ordinary day where I chose not to smoke. And sometimes, that’s the bravest kind of day there is.
I got this.
by Dan and Bonkers
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