Whoops!

Sorry gang, it's been a madhouse around here. It's nearing the end of the year at the office, which means that the bookkeeping is getting atrocious (and my adding machine is about to be kicked against the wall repeatedly), tensions are running high, and in the middle of all this I'm supposed to be panicking about Christmas shopping as well as what in the world I'm supposed to take to my mother's house for Thanksgiving.

--------------------

I'm fairly certain my Thanksgiving contribution will be mashed potatoes. Again. Because nobody else is fool enough to volunteer for that job, as these aren't just any mashed potatoes, but a certain kind known as "refrigerator mashed potatoes" which are so-named not because they're served cold (they're not -- they're heated) but because they can be stored in the fridge for a number of days prior to the actual event for which they've been prepared.

I think it's something to do with the cream cheese, sour cream, and butter in them, but I wouldn't put money on it. Five pounds of potatoes to boil then smash into an unrecognizable pulp with the potato ricer prior to mixing in all the other goodies. Oish. It's a wonder I can lift my arms the next day, but they're good. Worth it.

I'll post the recipe sometime. It's around... uhm... somewhere. I'm quite sure of it.

(Note to self: call Mom and get the recipe AGAIN... just like every other year)

------------------

In other news, the Chantix and I have reached an uneasy truce wherein I eat before taking it so it doesn't make me want to throw up, and in return it sucks all the joy out of smoking for me.

Yes, kids, I'm nicotine-free. Grudgingly, and with much whining, but I'm there.

Why quit when I'm whiny about it? Well, to be quite honest, I never will NOT be whiny about giving up my vices. I'll do it, but I will bitch and moan, dammit.

I love my Diet Coke and y'all should have heard me when I was pregnant with the boys. My midwife with the younger child especially was concerned about all the chemicals in Diet Coke. She'd have preferred I drink an entire pot of coffee twice a day than suck down even one of my wonderful, refreshing, chemically-altered-beyond-all-recognition carbonated beverages.

Problem is, a sure sign of gestation for me is that I develop an incredible loathing for coffee. The smell of it in bean form, ground form, or brewing is still fine (stuff's like potpourri for me, seriously). But the taste of it? Oh man, just kill me now. Simply Does. Not. Work. Not when I'm pregnant, anyway.

Needless to say, for a few months there? Amanda equaled Whiny.

And now that I'm done reproducing they will have to pry my Diet Coke out of my cold, dead fingers before I give it up. I don't require much in life, but I would like to hang on to at least one little vice. Just one.

But anyway, why quit smoking? Because I'm kind of fond of this whole living thing, and smoking has a bad habit of shortening that experience. Also, it interferes with my breathing hobby. And it's a craptastic example for the kids (well, that and they've been lecturing me about it mercilessly).

The yellow stains have almost faded completely from my fingers. Awesome.

----------------------

So anyway, that's what I've been up to for the past almost-two-weeks. That and doing the Halloween stuff with the boys. The elder was Anakin Skywalker and the younger was a knight. He looked alot like a gladiator, but believe me, that child was a KNIGHT.

Just ask him.

That Whole Smoking Thing

Think I'm going to try the stupid gum again rather than the Chantix. I just can't handle the Chantix insanity with everything else that's going on.

Don't worry, you won't be missing the "Amanda's Freakishly Weird Dreams" posts. Those get plenty freaky if I fall asleep with a piece of Nicorette in my mouth.

God, I hate this crap.

(I'm having a lovely day... can you tell?)

Chantix Day 6

Well, here we are, day 6. My husband and I have been taking two pills per day starting Tuesday, and continuing through yesterday and today.

Tuesday and yesterday I was pretty sure I was going to fall asleep at my desk. But today, I felt normal which I guess means I'm adjusting to it again.

I only itch when I think about it. Or when I think about scabies (thanks to AD... heh).

Typing that line made the inner part of my right eyelid itch. See?

Grumblemutter.

Anyway, I'm noticing much less urge to smoke, which is definitely a plus.

I'm also waking up at about 4:00 a.m., and sleep fitfully until my blasted alarm clock goes off at 5:15 or whatever unholy hour I have it set for.

But beyond that? It's all good.

Except for the itching, which I'm now feeling on both sides of my neck, about three inches behind and down from my ears.

And on my left knee.

Curse you, easily suggestible mind!!!!

Chantix Day Three

Well, here we are at day three of the Chantix. Tomorrow is the first day we'll be taking two pills.

I can say that the Chantix so far is making me a bit tired, but no moreso than a Benadryl would. We'll see how an increased dosage will affect me.

Yesterday I was itching a bit, but I think it could be psychosomatic because I'm just so worried I'll get Stan's reaction to the medication and have to go back to the Nicorette. Arrrgh! I really prefer my Extra bubblegum, thankyouverymuch.

The Benadryl really didn't touch the itching (I took two), so I'm figuring that means I was making myself itch. That conclusion has been borne out by the fact that if I think of itching (like, oh say, while typing this post), I start itching.

At work I didn't notice any itching unless I thought of it.

Or maybe I thought of it because I was itching.

Oish.

Well, anyway, we'll see how it goes tomorrow with both .5 mg pills!

I Can Has Chantix?

Well, the Chantix came home with me today. Happy belated birthday, dear husband of mine! Here's to many, MANY more years before us, free from these nasty little cancer sticks.

Sad thing is, I can call them "cancer sticks," I know they're bad for me, I hate the stench, I hate what they do to me, but I still. Freaking. Want. Them.

What led to the Great Chantix Experiment is that I found a very old, stale, nearly full pack of cigarettes in our kitchen. Yipes!

My husband and I looked at them. And looked at them.

Himself: They're stale.

Me: I know.

Himself: We've gone more than two days.

Me: I know.

Himself: We can do this.

Me: I know.

Me, five minutes later, firing one up in the back yard... sigh. Guilty bliss.

I went to Himself, thrust the pack into his hands and said, "Get rid of these. I can't take it. Make them go away."

Dude took me at my word. I came home yesterday and went to the garage to get something out of the chest freezer. The first thing that hit me was the distinctive smell of stale cigarette smoke.

"You've been smoking!"

"I've only smoked some butts out of my ashtray."

"Uh huh. Then why is the pack I gave you to make 'go away' half empty?"

Himself hung his head.

We finished them off that night. With great glee, I might add.

I hate this addiction. I hate how I still like smoking.

Ergo, the Chantix. We sincerely do want to quit smoking, but apparently are unable to do it on our own. We're hoping the Chantix will help kill off the "Gosh, smoking's FUN!" feeling and get us on the more realistic path of "And I want to suck smoke into my lungs because why???" frame of mind.

Here we go. Life is and will be GOOD!

Chantix

Whine, whine... the good news is that at least I'm self aware about my whining as well as my ability to quit smoking without a bit more assistance.

I went to my GP today, who is also conveniently my husband's GP. After he nearly threw his back out doing the happy dance because Himself and I are serious about quitting smoking, the Very Nice M.D. wrote us both prescriptions for Chantix.

Actually, he did the prescriptions on this little PDA which fired them directly off to our pharmacy. Cool, huh? So, Chantix, here we come!

--------------------------------

In other news, Angel has posted pictures of the two of us from the HP7 release. The first one, she looks great. I'm grinning so widely though that my cheeks are trying to cover up my eyes and I appear to have developed some weird side-dimples.

On the plus side, as Angel pointed out, it's a good shot of the rack. Magazine rack, of course, is what I mean.

The third picture shows off my nice yellow nicotine-stained teeth. I think I'll use that for motivation in addition to my other stuff.

But we had a blast at the release, and hopefully I'll get my pictures off my camera someday so I can post a few of my own. Those of you who've been waiting for more of my vacation pictures know how long that can take...

Blast it.

It's gonna have to be Chantix.

Why? Because I'm a total wimp. And apparently, so is my husband, aka He of the Will of Iron (not to be confused with Forging Iron Man, because, cute as Scott is? So not my husband, LOL).

So, we're wimps. Fortunately, our family doctor (my GP) is next door to my office. I'll be making a call in the morning and I'll see what he can do for us.

I'm tired of smoking. Even still.

Sorry for the "Smoking is BAD" theme, y'all. Not meaning to go there, seriously. Just spewing. If you're still smoking, I have nothing to say about it. Honestly. Been there. Still there, in so many MANY ways. So... no worries, y'all.

Thank You Note

Forty-eight hours and no one's dead yet. This is definitely an accomplishment.

On the other hand, I've been doing some reading on withdrawal from nicotine addiction, and now firmly believe that whoever thought of calling this first week off nicotine "Glory Week" seriously needs to be shot.

At any rate, as my mother always told me it was only polite to express one's thanks via written form:

Babs and AD, I'm going to look into Chantix. I know it's very easy to lapse (see my fine print), so I figure I need all the tools in my arsenal I can get. Actually, I'd heard of the new medication but could only remember it started with a "C", so the reminder was quite timely (and most appreciated)! Now I just have to get off my duff and call my GP, who said he'd prescribe it for me the moment I asked him to.

Bless that man.

Awesome Mom, thank you for your hopes that we make it through this without killing each other. We happen to share that hope, although there are doubts of the outcome at certain times. Currently Himself is voted most likely to be the victim of any capital crime, primarily because his method of dealing with stress is to be an outward ass. Mine is to be an inward bitch, which is much harder for him to catch.

Okay, I just read that to him and he says it's not hard for him to catch at all, so perhaps the stakes are somewhat more even than I'd thought.

Monkeygirl, I had to laugh at what you said. The office is currently trembling in fear. Well, they're trembling when they're not laughing behind my back as the withdrawal is making me incredibly ditzy. I have my moments of dopiness here in blogland, but at work I'm usually damn sharp. This week? Not so much.

Thanks for the waves of support -- I can definitely use 'em!

Maui, I've heard it can be like that (where a cigarette will smell good for a moment even decades after quitting). My father and mother quit over 30 years ago, and they still have that urge occasionally. I just need to get far enough along that I'm not seriously tempted to torch one up. Way to go for you on 25 years!

{{{{{Angel}}}}} Thank you! Just think, I won't have to sneak out of the restaurant when we finally have lunch to go fire one up :) And I don't know how hard the Lyrica withdrawal was. I remember reading about it in the backposts of your blog, and I think it's probably equally hard, just with different difficulties in different places. For me, it's both the nicotine addiction (which I'm helping with the gum) and the physical habit, like, "Gosh, I'm sitting at the computer... now where is that danged cancer stick anyway?"

Judy, I didn't know about your husband, and I'm so sorry to hear about it. Thank you for your support and for sharing what's going on in your life {{{{}}}}.

Felicity, thanks, and LOL on the "breaking up with your husband," part. It doesn't sound quite right, but I know exactly what you mean by it so it's all good.

Besides, it made me giggle and that's totally welcome at anytime, especially at this moment!

TZ, thanks for pulling for me! And here's hoping you and AD are right on this. I know my family history is bad, but who knows, I could have been dealt some incredible combination of genes that will make this all work out.

Even if not, I've still done some good. If not as much for me, but for my kids.

And fishwithoutbicycle, thank you for dropping by and the well-wishes!

All of you are very much appreciated. I'm going to find a pencil to gnaw now. One of my hugest fears is putting the weight I've lost back on.

On the plus side, I can always re-lose the weight. I hear it's a bit harder to recover from death.

Breaking Up

Oh so many layers upon layers of meaning in that title today. I swear I'm about to snap. But actually there's a very good reason for my "on the edge" feeling... good in both the "valid" and good as in the "positive life decision" aspects:

My husband and I quit smoking.

Last night we sat and sucked down all the cigarettes we had left in the house; we woke up this morning smoke-free. Oh happiness, joy and freedom!

Well, not quite the happiness yet.

I swear, it took me three pieces of Nicorette before I quit wanting to kill someone this morning. My husband, on the other hand, was subsisting on bubblegum and other munchies when I called to check on him around noon, and appeared to be doing fine. However, I did tell him that if he happened to be in a foul enough mood this evening I was going to pry open his jaws and forcibly feed him the Nicorette.

I got home around 6:40 p.m. He'd run out of munchies around 4:00.

There was no jaw-prying necessary because he snatched the packet out of my hand and practically crammed the entire thing, foil and all, into his mouth.

He's only slightly less homicidal right now.

I keep reaching for cigarettes that aren't there. Pa-THE-TIC!

What I'm not going to miss is the god-awful stench, the nicotine stains on my fingers, the funky "ate-up" feeling in my mouth, the breath, and the knowledge that each and every time I fire up, I'm definitely (not just possibly) knocking more time off my life.

My great-uncle died from emphysema. My grandfather died from early complications of lung cancer. My grandmother had COPD, and now so does my mother.

It's too late for me even now, in a sense. Looking at my genetics, I've likely already caused my lungs permanent damage. But at least by stopping now, hopefully it will stave off more damage.

That said, if someone handed me a cigarette right now? I'd look at it, feel disappointed in myself, and fire that sucker up.

Dammit.

Yep, breaking up is hard to do.