I've definitely had more productive days. Yesterday, I spent the day conversing with my Hot Pom from Greece.
Lest us not forget, he just happens to be living in Belgium.
Shooting the breeze with a card, it so turns out. My stomach is in knots. Could be the pilates, but I laughed the entire day yesterday. The entire day. He’s a sweetheart.
What fun though.
More pressingly, I’m spending the day out of office at Smoking Rehab. The day has arrived; and if I'm not shitting myself.
I have a feeling today won’t be as great as yesterday. In fact, today’s course, that is magically meant to help me give up my biggest vice ever – might not be a gas at all. It might actually end rather badly – with me in a straight jacket. But as a worst case scenario, I don’t believe this will happen.
Heaven help me.
I’m holding faith in the late Allen Carr. Yes, you guy. I’m putting my future lungs in your hands, so you’d better come through for me buddy. If all fails – and it won’t – I’m going to try really really hard to get re-brainwashed by your affiliates running the show...
…But if it’s laborious and I end up turning into an instant psycho bitch from hell that should not be allowed into public spaces – I will slap twelve Nicorette pads onto my business end.
I guess that’s an out. As in, ‘I’m dying, fuck.’ I’ll just whack a box full of those babies onto my backside and hope for the best.
Because I have drinks at Moyo later, and it’s going to be hard work. Sitting on my hands sipping on a straw. I’m dreading this. And being sociable without my little pal, El Cigarettolina.
We’re allowed to smoke throughout this 7 hours-strong session today. Apparently I’ll walk out, looking at my smokes like how non-smokers look at cigarettes. Call me skeptical, but am going to give it my best shot.
Wish me luck.