This non-smoking lark has thus far failed to impress me. Not only do I find it really tricky to write anything bar the most banal email without a ciggie clenched in my desperate fist - hence my disappearance from the blog for the last few days - but all kinds of horrid vanity-shocker things are happening. Such as:
- Impaired cognitive function
- my brain has turned into cream cheese, even more so than usual... Did cigarettes actually make me more clever (as I once claimed to a smug anti-smoking type after a bottle of wine) or is this just a temporary fuzz brought on by the nicotine deficit?
- The worst of both worlds
- my skin thinks it belongs to a teenager - spots?? At my age! NO FAIR! Plus there's also my wrinkles and crinkles to contend with. Granny furrows + teenage zits = no wonder I'm confused.
- Get thee to fat camp
- I have gained a grand total of 4 kilos in one mouldy week. None of my skirts will do up and my jeans have turned into a great big denim wedgie. Am sitting in front of the laptop in track pants. Miserable zitty crinkle face + trackpants + steadily increasing arse = not a pretty sight. Suspect Alpha will be serving divorce papers any moment now.
- Fit as a fiddle?
- The one thing I would have thought would be guaranteed would be better lungs, but no, I am still coughing and still incapable of running more than 50m without spotty wrinkly face turning the colour of a tomato and mouth impersonating a seen-better-days steam engine. I am still the laughing stock of the Safa Park jogging track yet can no longer console myself with the thought of a nice restorative ciggie waiting for me in the car. Bah.
- A more serene new me
- Everyone (i.e. all those blo*dy liars out there) told me that I would feel much more serene, free of the tyranny of the ciggies and therefore more even-tempered. I had a vision of myself turning into one of those washing powder advert mums, y'know, those paragons of mummyhood who wash muddy footie kit with a sweet smile before having a quick boogie in the buttercups during the spin cycle. Well, I might be smoke-free but am certainly not feeling balanced or in any way happy; in fact I've been throwing insane Mummy Tantrums at the smallest provocation. Kids have stopped speaking just in case they spark me off and Alpha is making himself very scarce indeed. This morning I had a hissy fit about a hair clip. Yesterday it was someone leaving the lid off my favorite pen. What next? The grass being the wrong shade of green? The straightjacket not being a flattering cut? My walls of my cell not quite padded enough? Sigh...
Comments