I haven't had a cigarette in three weeks. That's 21 days! 504 hours! 30,240 minutes! One million, eight hundred and fourteen thousand, four hundred seconds! 1.8144e+15 nanoseconds!
Etc.
So that is good. Good for me! Now comes the hard part, when the novelty wears off and is replaced by aimlessness, dysphoria, and occasional free-floating dread. On top of that, I really need to stop cramming in the salty snacks and candy at such an alarming rate; the money I am saving by not buying smokes, while significant, is not nearly enough to fund a new, larger wardrobe. Too bad. The snacking part is extremely fun.
You know, really, as much as this has sucked it hasn't been nearly as awful as I had built it up to be in my mind. I've quit a few times before, though, and the settling-in-for-real part is a special kind of bitch all its own. It doesn't help that it seems like by now the whole thing should be easier, but some things actually get a lot worse for a while.
I'm hoping that if all goes well and I am diligent about getting my shit together, though, pretty soon I will be able to talk about something--god, anything--else, and won't that be exciting?