pica_pica

Smoke-Free: 3 days, 7 hours, 11 minutes and 13 seconds

Cigarettes NOT smoked: 82

And then comes the tester. I was so pleased to have woken up this morning, the morning of the 4th day cold turkey. I've certainly done this enough over the years to know that making it to day 4 completely cold turkey is a big deal.

Sure, I've tried to quit a gazillion times before. Sometimes with Zyban, sometimes the patch, sometimes cutting down first but quite a few of those times are done with the idea of cold turkey at their base. I know its really the only way for me. If you are going to do something hard, make it count.

Invariably though, I'll sneak a little puff in during day one or two. It could have been a lone smoke found under the seat of the truck, a crumbling pair left in a forgotten pack inside the pocket of a jacket I wore last winter, or (and most disgustingly) sometimes I won't have thrown out all of the ashtrays, and my dilated pupil will hone in on a particularly long butt..... a cigarette I hardly smoked.
--you know you're a junkie when--

I'm sure I'm not the only smoker that has been horrified to find themselves smoking a butt, but damn those moments were always the most degrading to me.

Anyways, almost all those other attempts at cold turkey, and there may have been 10 of them in my life, would not have made it to the point I am at now without sneaking a lil sumptin sumptin in there. So I feel pretty damned happy to be on day 4 here. I know that means something.

AND, in all those other attempts at quitting smoking, life always seemed to throw a little something my way as a secondary tester. Something always seemed to happen right in the most stressful moment of my attempt to quit that would allow my drug starved brain to justify a quick pack.
Something devastating or stressful would come on.

So this morning, as my alarm was trying to pull me out from between my damp sheets which were still pinning me under that fitful abstract world of numbers and faces,

Radio static, CBC radio to be sure, but the knob is off just enough to make it static with a slight hint of communication behind it.
I think I open my eyes towards the source of the static.

:443

Close my eyes.

At first that was just an IP port, something to do with security and windows file sharing.

//home:443
safe here.

Sleep.

Then however, the static pulled me further out, and I opened my eyes again.

4:45

quarter to five I hit the snooze button, close my eyes, but Im already awake. I hear my cat Nemo suddenly, making strange gurgling noises from under the bed.

Neem I say, draping my arm over the side of the bed, rubbing my fingertips together, making that dryskin rasping noise that calls him.
He doesnt come.

Neeemo, psss tss, tss, tss
He doesnt come.

mrrrrrglemrrrrrrglerooowwww he says.

Thats a very strange sound coming from him. I dont think Ive heard it before. Im still layin on my stomach with my arm draped down over the side of the bed when the second alarm goes off. This one sounds like a truck backing up and I swear one day I will throw this clock out the window.

I dont even hit snooze. I just sit up and turn both alarms off. I can hear the final gurgle of the coffee pot out in the kitchen and I remember this from the last time I quit smoking. No more groggy mornings. Basically awake once Im awake. Not only awake after I get a couple smokes in.

I bend my head down to peer under the bed. I can barely make out his form in the farthest back corner. No light behind me to glow his eyes.
"Neeem, pss ssst ssssst"
He doesn't come.

I slowly walk into the kitchen, kinda smiling a bit when I see the clean spaces that have been slowly growing around this place, and pull my favorite mug from the cupboard.
who loves you? it says.
I cant make out his picture anymore, but its CB, my old poodle from when I was growing up. My aunt and uncle got one of those cheesy mugs made with his pic on it and I remember I was always terrified I would break that mug and somehow end up responsible for his death.
Well, hes been dead a few years now, and I still havent broken that mug, so I win.

I pour my coffee, walk over and turn on the receiver, CBC radio of course, and sit down to light a candle at my writing desk. A bit of a moment there.. whats that? oh yeah.. a smoke. Nope, sorry, none of that.
I just crack open the spine of my book when in my peripheral, I see Nemo come out of the bedroom and head on over to his food bowl.

His back is covered in blood.

Hes been sick for quite a while now. I had him in the vet a few months ago, and the tests all came back negative for anything out of the ordinary. Allergies, thats it.

I thought once I put him on this incredibly smelly hypo allergenic wet food though I thought he got better. His skin was looking WAY better. Obviously something was growing under the surface though and now I am absolutely horrified to see this. My god.

Hes eating though.. I open a can of wet and he stands there looking up at me meowing for his breakfast as if he is not dripping blood on to the living room floor. I plop the wet food into his bowl and take the opportunity to get a closer look at his back. I cant see what the hell is going on there, his fur is completely matted in blood. I know hell bolt back under the bed or into the closet if I try to get too close, but I grab the paper towel and rip off 3 sheets.

Gently I tamp it down on his back while he eats. This prompts some complaints from him, but he doesnt run. The towel sops up the blood and I can see its not thick. It must be an abcess that broke. Oh man Neem. This isnt good little guy.

I finally get enough sopped up to get a closer look and he hisses at me and bolts to the bedroom.

Hes under the bed again now. There are small drops of blood on the hardwood and I think his 16 years have come to a close.

Of course today today the company have me booked at a clients house, and its not just me booked.. there are 3 other guys going out there that are dependent on what I am doing, and they have organized some guys from another company to be there as well to co-ordinate with my stuff.

The company can't not refer to things as 'man-hours' and with a day planned with 4 of us out there, plus the 2 guys from the other company, for an 8 hour stint on site they'd be looking at that as 48 man hours, or more specifically worth around 10 grand. Me ... I'm not god in that, but the other guys can't do what they do unless I am there to do what I do.

These are the times where it sucks that I cannot explain that a cat's life is worth more than this. However, I simply cant not be there. Where is my rich clone?

No matter what else is going on though, it all pales to Nemo now.

I think I know what needs to be done here. I have been trying to pretend this isnt the answer for quite a few months now, but ..

Damn.