Tomorrow I'll have been taking the Wellbutrin for two weeks. At that point I'm supposed to quit smoking.
I feel pretty good. I haven't gone crazy yet, just been a little tense and talkative. I've been smoking and drinking (and eating and sleeping) a lot less lately. But the quit date sort of snuck up on me (already? I have to quit already?) and I don't feel ready. Not even a little bit. So fuck it. I'm going to smoke just a little longer.
I am a wimp, I know. Probably the cigarettes I'm going to smoke in the next few weeks will be about three hundred too many. I'll finally have crossed the invisible line, and the 257th extra cigarette will be the one that robs me of a productive, oxygen-rich old age and instead parks me on the couch with lung cancer as I slip into my dotage. Nevertheless, I'm not quitting just yet.
Here's the new formula for determining my quit date: I have a dentist appointment March 1, at which time they'll schedule another appointment to get my teeth cleaned. I will quit five days before the cleaning. That way my teeth will stay white and lovely.
Also: I will be kind and serene. I will smell good. I will bike to work. I will keep my room tidy. I will donate household items to needy families and stop making fun of people behind their backs when I'm in the grocery store.
This is going to be so great.