Seven weeks but who's counting?

7 Weeks But Who’s Counting?

I realize this probably sounds like a pregnancy post. Before anyone starts freaking out, thinking:

“This girl only has string cheese and wine in her refrigerator!” (This is quite true. Throw in some hummus and then we're all good.)

"She can't put a bedsheet on correctly." (true statement)

"She doesn't own any pots or pans!" (ehmmmm)

"She spends her money on stupid things, like necessary purple jeans from Urban Outfitters that she's glad her 30-year-old arse fits into" (again, ehmmmm)

"Ari (age 7)  likes Amy because she plays Nintendo." (Ok yes, my godson still may like me because I have a little 12 year old in me. Yoshi for life.)

No, my friends, no. No. I love your children, it's just that I couldn't raise a cactus right now.

Please realize that I am speaking of the anniversary of  my 7 weeks of quitting smoking.

You know, it feels like a break up. It really does. Parly Lite (which is what I’ll name my fictional cigarette “husband”, was always there for me. I could always go buy some Parls at 7-11 (for as much as you could probably buy, oh wait, never mind, about 2 minutes of parking in the Loop for) and go home and be able to smoke. What it was good for was a feeling of comfort. I felt a nice, soothing feeling knowing I had “him” in my bag. If anything, I knew that was waiting for me at the end of a long workday, a lunch break, a talk break with friends outside, or just me, really feeling like I wanted my Parly. A constant in my life. Which started, as I put two and two together (again, math major over here) giving me chronic bronchitis. No way could those be related, I thought? No, just stuff going around. (Right. The empty two packs in your car have absolutely nothing to do with you smoking.  Nope.)

7 weeks ago today, I quit completely. Just stopped. No Nicorette, no e-cigs, no gum, no nothing. Something in my mind just said, “Amy, stop.” You know why? Because, at that moment, I, AMY, fully and truly, really wanted to stop.  Listening to warnings about my asthmas worsening quickly and hearing about cancer deaths? Pshhhh. Didn’t mean anything in one part of my rationalization. But, at that moment, 7 weeks ago, today, I felt compelled to stop.  And I did stop. I’m still a little amazed by it all seeing that I am have such an “addictive personality” that I’d probably hunt you down for something as harmless as a cherry Jolly Rancher if I was craving them. I’ll come find your whole bag and take them all. Kidding. Kinda.

I wrote about my struggle previously, so here is the update of sorts. I never realized that I’d have the strength make it this far. And, from this, to anyone dealing with any form of addictive behavior, it really does take you wanting it and YOU telling YOU…”Hey…there are too many important things riding on this. Why don’t you just stop for now.  Just try.”  It sounds cheesy, but it’s true. And here I am sitting here almost two months later having not had one puff of a cigarette.  Breaking up is hard to do, but it can be done. You’ve just got to be ready.  I won't be secretly buying that pack of Parls or Marls or Cams or whatever it is, and if I do, I cheat most horribly, on the success I've gained. You really are your own worst enemy. It’s all on you. And trust me, if I CAN KICK A HABIT, you can. I almost feel like being on a billboard on 294. Anyone want to put me up there?

Happy Friday


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    Amy Litterski DeSario

    Born and raised in Chicago, probably not leaving any time soon. 30-something. University of Illinois alum. You can reach me at

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