While I had learned from the forum that it takes a full year to complete the base-est part of the psychological manifestations of cravings, I had forgotten. Whilst this process for me has not always been the easiest thing I've ever done, it had gotten manageable. And while I couldn't quite yet say I would never, ever smoke again, the thought of it became more and more unappealing, and the internal mental clicks became stronger and stronger.

And then it snowed.

Many people feel a sort of smoking 'kinship' with a certain season. I have heard countless times that if it's too hot and humid, some smokers don't really enjoy the stench and heaviness of tobacco. Still others, particularly in colder areas of the world, say they dislike the double battle that comes shiveringly with inhaling ice particles mixed with poison in the dead of winter.

Many of us, as we become educated and no longer smoke in our homes out of respect for our loved ones and pets, do not relish the thought of a frosty trip to the garage, or having to bulk up to go out for one or two puffs before we disgustedly throw out half of a whole stick because it's just too darned cold.

For me, winter is the biggest trigger of all. Living close to the mountains, I have often equated smoking with the socialization that comes with outdoor winter sports. Don't get me wrong, I was never the type of person - like my ex's mother - who would light up on the chair lift up the ski hill. (Just as a side-bar, the ex's mother quit smoking three years ago - good for her!)

I could never understand, as addicted as I was, how one could either light up on the lift or even stop on the way down to stand under a fragrant snow-laden pine and fire one up. That is if you could even get it lit with a frozen lighter or matches that fizzled too quickly. It just seemed so ludicrous, standing in the midst of all of that snowy, sparkling beauty, awed by the majesty of the great rockies. Inhaling the stinky weed after one's lungs had been filled fresh and full of clean mountain air seemed somehow, sacrilege.

Afterwards however, in the warmth of the chalet lounge's fireplace, over a steaming Polar Bear or Irish Coffee, it was exactly the 'perfect' time. What ever respite I had granted my lungs throughout the day was thoroughly disspelled in the evening hours sitting around the lounge, restaurant, or ski chalet with friends. Although this was a few years back and I haven't waxed the ole' boards in awhile, this is a romanticized junkie thought.

Winter for me, is a season full of paradoxes. I am all at once social because it is a season of holidays and gathering, and stressed, for the same reasons. Although I exhalt in the beauty of the crisp snow and love hot chocolate and warm flannels, I also miss the activity of a more temperate climate, and more spontaneous outside activities. It takes much bundling and wrapping of limbs and protuberancies to brave the - 40 degree with windchill nights should one perhaps forget to pick up milk.

It gets darker earlier up here and we are beginning to arrive at work in darkness and leave for home in twilight. More and more people are prone to depression or have complications due to Seasonal Affective Disorder, (SAD) which is all about lack of natural light, and too much daily darkness.

Personally, I am going through what I perceive to be a testing, and therefore, strengthening of my soul. I am going through some painful processes to release old habits and beliefs, to strive to live honestly and with truth, and to surround myself with the same.

In keeping with this path, I am currently reading 'Handbook for the Soul', a tome full of sage and nourishing chapters from many different spiritualists, philosophers and teachers. One chapter is called 'Seasons of the Soul' in which Linda Leonard, Ph.D. wrote the following, which struck a chord within on my ever searching journey;

''Winter is often experienced as a period of despair. At the same time, it is a period of creative hibernation and devlopment. When we get sunk down in the dark night of the soul, it helps to remember this is just one phase that will change into something else. We will come out of the darkness with something that will help us, and help other people. It is actually a kind of purification phase."

I have to believe that. Else why would some transitions ultimately be so painful?

The winters here up north are long and cold; there is much time spent indoors, getting outside can be not only a chore, but downright unadvisable as weathermen tell us to curl up with a good book rather than brave the treacherous icy roads and sub-zero temperatures.

There goes one of my escape methods, which was riding my bike by the river. All this means, is that I will have to find an alternate activity. A replacement for my habit. Although some of the cravings have been particularly strong after that first snow fall, my psyche is now getting used to this particular season and not equating it with toxins. This is a good time for me to post on the Forum.

Which brings me to another wonderful lesson I am learning; If you need help with this process, or anything else, get it. Remember, this is a battle for your life, literally.

I was invited to my Aunty Olga's 70th birthday in a different city which takes three to four hours to drive. Alone. On the highway. With nothing but me and the asphalt. Hmmm.

So this would be facing a thousand triggers, one of which being highway driving by myself when usually I'd have Cristina Aguilera blasting and my sunnies on as I zipped down the QE2 puffing away as I weaved between passing semi's and the more careful drivers.

I always hated it when the wind blew the ashes around, sometimes right back in my eye, and even worse, when the lit end fell off of my sickorette and I'd have to dangerously swerve or pull over to find it, praying frantically I hadn't burnt anything inside of consequence. So that part of it eliminated would be a blessing. But what would I do for three hours in the car?

And what would I do with another of my Aunts, Aunty Ann, with whom I had smoked furiously till three sometimes four a.m. filling up the ashtray to disgusting mountainous proportions whilst bonding, promising each other 'just one more and then we'll go to bed'? It had been our way of catching up with our lives, other family members and how they were, and reminiscing about my mother, her sister. It was a cherished part of every visit.

Not to mention there are always some stresses and slights in every family gathering. Whether they're real and present, or imagined and past, there they are, an inescapable intertwining of a group of people who know each other all too well and paradoxically, not at all. Sigh... I knew I had to go, and more than that, I wanted to.

After all, the adorable neices were going to be there, and as I've been looking into flights to somewhere warmer for over the Christmas period. This may be my last chance to see everyone for quite some time. On arrival, I felt great. Even with the windows cracked a bit, we don't realize how doubly toxic all of that swirling smoke is to inhale hour after hour in a long car ride, I actually felt rather refreshed.

Dinner was absolutely remarkable, platters filled to brimming with delectable mounds of seafood, cheeses, fresh fruit and dark chocolate truffles. It was fabulous to visit with Aunties, Uncles and cousins whom I had not seen in awhile, to catch up on their lives and tell them all about mine.

All of them, even the one cousin who still smokes, were hugely congratulatory and impressed with my abstinence from the addiction. Many of them having formerly smoked knew of the difficulties in the process, and some of them well, didn't. Either way, it was very validating and encouraging.

I have one sort of gruff Uncle who says the odd word now and then, but isn't the most loquacious dude on the planet; he is quite difficult to impress into conversation. Yet he raised his eyebrows upon learning of my smobriety, (seriously, this is a huge display of emotion for him) and asked me how I'd quit and how I felt.

He had tried to quit many times as a young adult, but to no avail. After his triple by-pass surgery however, he was able to quit smoking successfully and has not had one puff in four years. 'This last time was easy', he stated, ' I actually tried to have a puff one Christmas and it made me feel nauseous and tasted horrible. Guess I was just ready.'

I think it's marvellous. I also think triple by-pass surgery may have scared the desire right out of him and the 'one puff' theory is thoroughly dangerous, but never-the-less, he remains smoke-free to this day with the thought of ever smoking again not an option. It made me grateful that I hadn't waited for a surgery or an x-ray to terrorize me into a quit. Yet I will always maintain the reasons are not nearly as important as the action.

I received oodles of hugs from my adorable neices, ate like a starving woman, made the horrendous mistake of stepping on a scale, and another one as in disbelief, I stepped on a different one with the same results. (If anyone remembers what the definition of insanity - doing the same thing over and over again hoping for a different result - they will get the futility of the scale stepping action!). Eventually I shrugged and grabbed another truffle. What are family gatherings for if not to eat like an idiot?

Then one of the Big Tests came. Invited for a walk and talk back at Aunty Ann's place, I followed her dutifully and warily to the garage, shuffling my feet behind her as if on the way to the guillotine.

'We'll just have a couple and then go to bed.' she promised, and fussed around looking for the requisite matches and old tomatoe can than served as an ashtray.

'But I don't smoke any more Aunty,' which I knew she knew. ' I can't have one puff. Not ever.' I said quietly.

No response. Though she did look rather disappointed, she did not utter a word about it.

I still sat with her as we spoke about changes in our lives, things to do in the future, and philosophies we either agreed or differed on.

'I'm embarrassed I started again.' she said finally.

'I never should have picked up that one cigarette during that family visit. This is absolutely it after this last pack.' she said determinedly.

Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't. Having uttered those very words a million times myself, I knew they would be her truth when and only when, she was ready for it. I smiled. We were going back into the smoke free house, we had still bonded and talked, and I had passed a huge test.

The next day I was back on the highway, clear-headed and refreshed after a good sleep with no toxic smoke 'hang-over'. And what did I end up doing in the car for the six hours there and back? I sang. Let me rephrase that, I sang loudly! And actually hit a few hight notes I'd never thought I'd see again.

Move over Cristina! Okay, maybe not.

I went out the other night with some colleagues. It started, as these things usually do, with an innocuous glass or two of wine. But the chatter and laughter grew louder and the server kept coming by, and time just sort of ran away, taking some of our brains cells with it. Only a couple in our immediate group smoked; one who is as addicted as I was, and the other, one of those social smokers that can 'take it or leave it' (grrrr, but that's another discussion).

So there we were, exuburant, giddy and giggly in one of those groups where you just seem to connect in a way you can't quite during the regular hours. This is not a phenomenon only for women. I have seen it with men as well, and I have know the situation to be equally as dangerous.

Why is it dangerous? Were these women forcing sickorettes down my throat, telling me how wonderful it was to smoke and how happy they were to be addicted? No. In fact one of them was telling me how much she hated it, hated the way she smelled, the way she felt, how much it cost. In fact, that very night, she set her quit date.

The night progressed. We moved to an upscale New York type of bar, then to a fun and more active one that had an extraordinary band and room to dance. This latest venue was filled with smoke, it actually hurt my eyes and stung my throat. It was so thick and pungent I actually thought I might as well smoke, as this felt much the same. And then I noticed it. My colleague's sickorette burning beseechingly in the ashtray.

She'd taken great care to blow away from my face, not to smoke as much, and to keep the ashtray far from reach. She must've slipped though, because there it was, just sitting there. 'One puff.' a tiny voice said within, ' You really hate smoking now, so what's the big deal? Look around, there are still so many smoking, just have one puff, you can go back to quitting tomorrow'. It wasn't even a craving, not even an urge. But only a thought.

Even though it was a tee-totalling night for me, the hazy thought of 'just one' wouldn't hurt seemed to make sense. But then I stopped. I just couldn't, I had worked too danged hard. There are those people like colleague number two, that can smoke now and then, once in a blue moon - but I am not one of them. I am a full-fledged addict.

And even if I could take the one puff and not smoke ever again, did I truly want to risk it? Did I really want to go through the horrendous nicotine withdrawal I experienced those first few days all over again? Nah. Curiousity is not worth it, not in this case.

I still felt grimey from the smoke that had been in the bar, and throughout the next day kept coughing in a way I hadn't for ages. How did I ever go out and smoke at the same time was beyond me. The great thing is though, I still danced, still bonded and did all of those things one does on a fun girls night out except one...I didn't smoke.

One of my students told me the other day that she has been quit for three months. She says she will never smoke again, but now and then, there is the odd urge, the odd craving. She says it sneaks up on her and knocks her senseless. I told her of something I'd learned from the about.com site,

' Wouldn't you rather be a non-smoker who thinks about smoking once in awhile than a smoker who constantly worries about quitting?'

Her face brightened, 'That makes total sense!' she replied, 'I love that saying.' It puts a bit of perspective in it, to be sure.

The thing is, it's not always the knock-'em down cravings that are dangerous, but the subtle 'just hanging with buds on a Friday night so one won't hurt' whispers. I have seen many an ex-smoker fall for this.

Be on guard...not in a tense and uptight way, you do need to have fun, but dismiss the whispers as firmly as you did the screams...it's coming from the same place and will lead you down the same path.

One of the forum's spunkiest and most determined quitters has got to be Kerri (aka Wonder Woman). Kerri has an outstanding quit story on our site quitsmoking.about.com, and has always been a source of inspiration for myself and many other forum members. One of the things she has been very open about, is that at around three or four months, she experienced a real wall in her process. She realized that it had to do with the extra time we have that smoking takes up, something we don't always realize from the start.

When you think about it - it took me about 7- 10 minutes to smoke a sickorette, depending on whether I was in a rush, or lounging at home writing in my journal. I smoked about a pack a day, and was getting to the point of smoking more. There were 25 sicks in a pack. Times that by 30 and thats 300 minutes, or about 5 hours a day. So let's give some leeway and say you don't smoke as much, we'll even give more time and round it down to 3.5 hours a day. Three hours a day!! Spent feeding our addictions. OH what we could do with that precious, precious time. Not to mention the incredible life force and energy the poison sucks out of us (and we think we're the ones inhaling!).

So what does one do when one quits? For Kerri, it was discovering new hobbies and interests. First it was knitting, then it was running, now she's a marathon runner. Now that's finding a constructive way to fill your time. For Maria it was cycling with her husband and getting fit at the gym, after just over a year, she has a stomach you could slice bread on.

For me unfortunately, it's been food! But as mentioned earlier, that is definitely changing. I did start to crochet earlier on, but never really could stick to it. When we were kids, we always found time to play, time to explore, time to create. We never thought about smoking or missing a crutch. Perhaps this is like a second childhood in a way, an opportunity to re-discover new things, pour our energies into something we want to build, make or discover.

In the Nicotine Withdrawal Category of About.com Smoking Cessation is a list of 101 things to do instead of smoke. It's an excellent list, and I've copied some of my favourites below. If you're about to quit, start researching things you've always wanted to do (I really want a karaoke machine - now that I can hit those notes again, I used to LOVE to sing!), and if you've already quit, keep exploring. There's a whole huge healthy world out there with TONS to do and learn, and now you've got the money to do it, and the most precious commodity of all, time.

Do a jigsaw puzzle, or work with clay.

Go for a run or a swim, or even the best excercise of all...go for a walk.

Write a poem, a short story, a love letter.

Go outside and take pictures of your favourite park, building or statue.

Take an exotic cooking class.

Learn a new language.

Organize your boxes of pictures, create memorable and interesting captions for them.

Visit the SPCA and adopt a pet, or go get a fish - aquariums are loads of fun.

Go to a Karaoke place and sing, sing, sing!

Find something you LOVE. Make a list of your interests; it can even be things you wanted to do when you were a child. Anything goes, just rediscover what it was that brought you happiness and find ways to implement it into your life. Take the time you have and spend it on yourself.

It's your gift to you!

I have a jittery feeling lately. Maybe it's because the air is turning cooler and I know the snow that is to come. It is happening too quickly, I was hoping for more sunny days. I can feel the warmth bleeding into the nights and now in the mornings, there is a touch of frost on everything. It's beautiful, it's magical, but it's too darn soon.

There are also transitions happening in my life, and though I know they're positive changes, they are things that were familiar to me, and of comfort, and now they're leaving. This creates in me a desire to seek comfort elsewhere. And in my illusory mind, it always came from the death sticks.

They've always been a kind of crutch, something I could turn to in fury, anxiety or sadness. They were also 'motivators' , so I would use them to get up in the mornings. Now I look back and am amazed at how, even though I felt the first one of the day encouraged me to leave the toastiness of the comforter in the mornings, I would sit ever unproductively longer, perhaps having another, and feel myself losing energy. I would feel the dryness and slight pain in my throat, the beginnings of a headache start to creep in, subtle - but definitely present.

I used cigarettes as 'rewarders', I could sit down and relax with a stick after cleaning out the fridge (or behind it), I could have a few puffs if the phone rang during cleaning and 'have a break'. The entire reward system was created solely in my mind, and re-enforced on a near daily basis. No wonder this process had been so mentally difficult, I had made it that way.

But by far, one of the biggest things I used them for, was for comfort and security. No matter what transpired in my life, what changes I went to, what new country I visited, I could take them with me, lean on them, envelope myself in their familiar poison. Another illusion.

The only feeling my cigarettes quelled was the dulling of anxiety and uncomfortability solely created by the addiction. There was no real lessening of the pain or tension that was deeper within. I wonder how many things we hang onto out of comfort and familiarity, things that we know aren't healthy for us?

I know it's a strong theme in my life, to be sure, and I think that's why this process was more of a struggle for me than I've seen it be for others. I have stayed in staid jobs that no longer fulfilled me, and with men when the connection, the growth and the kindnesses were all dried up, and even unhealthy friendships I could neither trust nor rely on because 'we had known eachother forever'.

Now it was the same with the cigarettes. Our 'relationship' was over, there was nothing it truly added to my life. It only stole, took the twinkle out of my eye, the moisture from my face, the spring out of my step...effectively and continuously robbing me of health, energy and freshness.

For most of us, it is a subtle draining, as it was for me, so it's not always easy to pinpoint exactly what is so wrong about induging in the odd puff. I guess that would sort of be like having the odd fling with your ex, it just doesn't work that way.

Yet, still the restlessness.

I was a little intimidated by you, when first we met. You seemed so sophisticated, so cool. And you came with such nifty accessories; in gold and silver, multi-coloured, engraved cases, bronzed creatures. There were hard or smooth packets that contained mini explosions that burst and waned in a sizzle. Wow, I thought. I was pretty impressed.

At the beginning, I only pretended to like you. You see, I wanted so badly to fit in, to belong. And you were so popular, so glamourous. I hung out with you now and then just to be 'cool' by association. I was such an awkward girl, and it seemed that hanging out with you made me look more interesting, a little edgy.

Then we just became closer and I started to spend more and more time with you. You promised me that I would always be strong with you, you would never let me down, that together, we could conquer anything. I believed you, you were so suave, and I had felt so alone. Now I was part of something, and so were others, and we would all gather close together, trading and sharing accessories, huddling and cuddling with you, enraptured and captured.

I turned trustingly towards you and believed everything you promised. Plus there were so many others who believed, and I trusted them, too. I inhaled your very essence, even when the warning signs began, ever so slightly, tapping so quietly, as often they do. I felt edgy, uncomfortable alot, especially when I couldn't get to you, couldn't be near you. I didn't feel so well either, a few headaches, my heart raced, and sometimes it jumped. I was starting to get tired alot, too.

But I didn't want to look at these things, didn't want to give you up. I was wrapped in denial. The thought of being without you was too terrifying, and so I ignored the signs, and continued our journey. We gazed at moonlit skies, lit up the darkness with glowing embers, designing puffy ghost donuts in the air to amuse ourselves. I noticed even when I felt I wanted to be with you when I was upset, that you didn't really comfort me, you didn't truly ease my pain.

Many times, after a rough experience, I would turn to you. But the next day I would feel even worse, and the pain that I'd been trying to obliterate was still within, and even stronger, because added were recriminations and guilt. It was then I realized you were a liar.

I have learned through the years that what I don't acknowledge mentally, manifests itself physically and emotionally, and I could really tell that our relationship was becoming unhealthy. But your lies were so effective, the illusions so blinding, my reliance so complete. I was just too uncomfortable without you, I feel panicked and weak.

I thought I couldn't face the world without you. You had been there for everything, and I knew I wouldn't be able to deal with anything if you weren't by my side. But I was getting weary of paying for you all of the time. I couldn't afford alot of things I really wanted because I had to pay for you, and you just kept wanting more and more every single year; more of my money, more of my energy, more of my time. It's like you stole the very glow from my cheeks. Maybe I was the one who started inhaling you, but by the end, it was I who felt drained. And then you became possessive.

You permeated everything, everything I touched, my clothes, my hair, my very breath from your toxic kisses. After a particularly rough happenstance in my life, I leant on you heavily, and I felt so bad, so covered in ichor and the pain didn't dissipate even remotely, and I knew, I knew it was the beginning of the end.

Letting you go is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. But I think it was more the promise of you, and the warped memories than the actual loss. The promise that would only end in sickness, pain and death. I'd seen what you've done to others, but somehow with me - I thought it would be different, thought I was different. I think many of us think that way, that somehow we'll escape your destructive, writhing grasp. But you've never been worth the chance, thief of hearts, of body and mind.

And now you're gone, and though I've cried for weeks, and thought I missed you and nearly asked you back...things are becoming clearer now. I sleep better, I can taste my food again, laugh without wheezing, run with abandonment and energy. Although I won't lie, there remains the whiffs of memories past that still tap my shoulder, but they grow more and more faint as time goes on.

I'm finally moving on.

Six months. Me. I cannot believe I am halfway to one full year of not smoking.

For anybody who knows me or knew me, this is nothing short of miraculous. As I've mentioned before, one would be hard pressed to find a photograph of me anywhere from the age of 15 on without a cigarette in hand. Hours now pass without me thinking about them.

I wake up with thoughts of the day ahead as opposed to the first rancid drag being my motivation for leaving the flannels. So this should be time to rejoice! A song and dance, deep breathing freedom, right? And there are those moments, to be sure. They are tiny thrills, little lights that move quickly and energetically through me, there yet not quite tangible, not quite solid. There is something else I didn't anticipate. Feeling.

I have always known I was sensitive, I mean - that's why we overeat, smoke, drink too much, shop too much, who wants to feel that deeply all of the time? So I had to face myself, my emotions, my sensitivities, for the first time completely unaided by any crutch, since I was fifteen years old.

The first few weeks I cried my eyes out. I had no idea there could be that much water in a person. Even if we are mostly water, I felt I weeped a pond full nearly every day. Now it's maybe only a bathtub full, but still! I guess there was alot inside I didn't really allow myself to feel.

On top of getting to know our real un-anesthetized selves all over again, there is the physiological aspect of this addiction, it is not purely personally emotive. There is a chemical reaction in our brains that really affects the way we think and react when it is dulled by nicotine.

Studies have shown that nicotine increases the dopamine, those feel good chemicals, in brain cells. When we stop poisoning our cells in this manner, they have to re-learn how to activate themselves and not rely on nicotine's stiumlations.

Some people find a great benefit to going on anti-depressants for a time to ease this process slightly. Though Zyban seems to be taken during cessation, I am learning that there are some who feel they need an easing to the process even after they've already quit. I haven't so far, but I say, whatever works to keep you off the toxins, you can eventually ween off of the anti-depressants.

I'm learning to feel and react normally all over again. It isn't always fun, but it is getting easier. Sometimes I am thoroughly choked at why growth has to be so dang difficult! But I suppose it's to instill an appreciation for what we have achieved or accomplished.

I was at a pub briefly with some colleagues last week. One gentleman in our gathering had been smoking for several years. He had quit twice, one time was for four years. 'Four years?? What could have possibly made you go back?' I asked him. He smiled sheepishly, 'I thought I could just smoke the one,' he said.

When I asked if he had craved it, sitting around in a pub with a few friends, much like we were presently doing he replied, 'No. I had gotten over the cravings. In fact, I had never felt better in my entire life. I just thought I could get away with just one. I'll quit again,' he said wistfully, 'I want to feel like that again'.

Sometimes in the turmoil and yearning of the process, we forget how much better we truly have it. It really is all about time and patience. I also realize that there are other things I am contending with in my life that I know are causing the tears to flow a bit heavier than they would otherwise.

Transistions seem to happen so much more quickly as the years pass, I can barely keep up with them. Sometimes I just want a staid, calm life of peacefulness which doesn't seem to be in the cards for this former drama-queen, that's for sure.

But I do know that starting to smoke again would not change one thing in my life, would not make it better, would not stop the lessons. It's like that great saying I read on the forum;

'There is nothing so bad that smoking won't make it worse.'

I have not met one ex-smoker yet who wants to start again. I have heard they have the odd cravings, I even heard one individual say, ' I really miss it'. When asked if she would go back to smoking, she looked horrified, 'Are you kidding me? No way! Blech.' So I guess that kind of sums it up.

6 months and counting. Funny, I didn't really believe I'd make it past the first week! My quitmeter shows over $1,500 saved, and two weeks of my life won back. Let the tears flow. Maybe I'll cry in Hawaii, now that I've nearly saved enough to get there!

It is Canadian Thanksgiving this weekend. We had a beautifully healthy dinner of Coho Salmon with lemon butter, baby new potatoes with dill, fresh asparagus and spinach salad with low-fat mango dressing. AND a BIG ole' thick slice of ice cream cake from Dairy Queen. (Hey, ya gotta LIVE a little too, right?)

It is still a beautiful autumn day, the sky a clear and sharp blue, the leaves aflame and crunchy, gorgeous. There is much to be thankful for, I know. But the biggest one this year, is by far - is the obvious one. The gift I gave to myself and to everybody I love...another chance at life.

Although I am still so amazed at how long I've gone without a cigarette, I am equally amazed at how long I have smoked for. There are those huge things I'm thankful for, like not feeling literally choked by smoke (I have a picture in my head of the blue white noxious wisps forming two spindly hands that encircle my throat), and those nagging, terrifying pains in my chest that have now disappeared since I stopped forcing poison in my system.

But this is a light and happy holiday, so there are also those little things now gone from my life, that I am also very thankful for. I wonder if there are some you can relate to?

I'm thankful:

• That I don't have to spend as much money on pantyhose because of an errant ash or two.
• That I don't have to back up when I come in from outside and smoking. My clothes, particularly my coats, don't have that putrid sweet odor clinging to them.
• I'm not squinting to avoid burning my eyeballs from having to 'light up'.
• My heart doesn't thump, race or skip beats at night, when it should be slow and steady.
• I don't careen wildly all over the road if the lit end or 'cherry' from a cigarette happens to fall between the seats.
• I don't have blisters on my fingers from talking too much and not paying attention to the fact that I was burning myself.
• I can justify buying that expensive cream I've always wanted to try, or that lipstick that is just this side of two pricy, because I'm not spending a fortune on killing myself.
• I don't have to close my mind in denial whilst throwing out ashtrays filled of curled and blackened butts.
• I don't rip my lips from a cigarette butt that's gotten stuck and pulled.
• I don't have to buy in bulk because it's going to snow and how will I get more cigarettes if it's too cold and I don't have the car?
• I don't have to worry where I'm going to eat or meet up with friends once the non-smoking laws that are taking place rapidly come into effect.

Ah, there are so many things to be thankful for now that I don't smoke. If I were to list them all out, there would be hundreds, maybe even thousands. But most of all, there is one thing I'm thankful for that sums it all up:

I am just so darned thankful that I can breathe.

It's happening. It's really happening, the 'switch over'.

I wasn't sure it was possible, I was really hoping it was, but there was always a part of me that wondered if it were true. You see, I've heard some people say, after three years or ten, that they still miss it. Still crave it. Though many, many more were nearly prostrate with gratitude or reviled by even a wisp of the toxic streams, there was a part of me who leant towards an understanding of the former. I was after all, different, more addicted somehow. Even though I mentally understood this lethal addiction, and emotionally fought it, that part of me that thought I would really be repulsed by it some day, was still sort of sitting on the fence. But last week it happened. More than once.

These thoughts came on the heels of a rather rough few day, which I am discovering seems to be the rule. I had just come through a bit of a 'lull' in cravings, but now I seemed to be having some pretty wayward thoughts. I have heard of this 'lull' period, where you nearly forget the real struggle of the first couple of weeks, and start to romanticize smoking again.

On the way home from work, I pass by a charming little Mediterranean cafe with windows large enough to see gathered groups of friends sitting round tables. Atop these tables are large hookah pipes, with colorful glass bases and brightly patterned hoses. One can add a mixture of fruit essence and a kind of tobacco that I'd heard didn't contain nicotine. I looked longingly at the group of friends laughing and gesticulating, sharing this legal bong. Surely, one wee non-toxic puff couldn't hurt...could it? Perhaps I'd invite some friends for dinner on the weekend, it looked like so much fun.

The thoughts crept in fairly innocuously, or so I thought. It's funny how if you let the first one slip by, the second one becomes stronger, more persistent. While one very large part of me kept affirming my gratitude at having come this far and determination at continuing, another part of my brain was sneakily trying to find some sort of loop hole.

Then it happened.

I have a fair commute to work every day, including an accumulated twenty to thirty minute walk. On the way there, the crowd from the train station to the buildings moves quickly and en masse. It was a beautiful fall day, I thought, as I crunched through sunset colored fallen leaves, each one bright and brilliant, as if lit from within. The air was filled with the scent of crab apples and sharp briskness. I don't even like apple cider, but autumn always made me feel as though I did. I took a deep, beautiful breath...and nearly choked.

There it was, that unmistakable stealthy and putrid odor. It was supremely offensive, it obliterated the very life of the air, my eyes searched angrily for the offending substance. I found it between the fingers of a student, walking amoungst the crowd, seemingly oblivious to the people behind her who were dodging to the left and right of her wake, coughing and sputtering and waving their hands in front of their faces. I myself ran past her so I wouldn't have to inhale her emittences. I found this fairly ironic and comical considering a few months ago, I probably would have been glued to her backside, lips puckered, trying to catch an errant whiff. Now I just felt kind of miffed. It was such a gorgeous fresh day, why ruin it?

Not once did I feel even the slightest bit of envy, in fact - I felt pity for this girl whom so many people seemed to find it easy to pass. Poor girl I thought, I hope she quits soon. I was quite amazed to genuinely feel revulsed, for even though I had had that first epiphany in Fort Mac, there had still been an element of envy. It was a joyous occasion, and I celebrated it inwardly, I was coming through. Finally.

Do I believe I will ever be fully well, 'switched'? I'm not sure. But I feel that it is possible more now than ever before, and that really IS a switch. As for the hookah place, no, I don't think so. Inhaling anything into my lungs seems rather foolish right now, and who knows what it could lead to. Besides, I'm becoming rather used to breathing in fresh, clean air deeply and gratefully. There are lots of other places with big, large windows.

I have gained weight since I quit. ALOT of weight. I've gone up two dress sizes, and though I tried to convince myself that it was just water or bloating or that last large dinner...I've now realized that I'm quite simply, fat. It's funny, because during that first quit, I actully lost weight because I was so active. This time around though, I gave myself permission to eat anything I wanted, a sort of 'reward' for quitting. Although I'm a firm believe in 'whatever it takes' to bury this addiction, I kind of wish I'd chosen to bury it with weights instead of cakes.

I went to a very hip clothing store the other day, filled with beautiful, sassy clothes and skinny, saucy clerks. With several items strung across my arm, I made my way to the teeny, tiny change rooms (I'm sorry, but WHY do they put those things in the middle of the store sometimes!?) It was pretty cramped in there, I kept banging my bottom against the door and had mental trauma imagining the door swinging wide open to show a group of revulsed and horrified individuals a chubby, mortified me.

I changed slowly. The fluorescent lighting was awful. Every bump, bulge and droop seemed almost glaringly caricature-like in its magnification. I then had a thought that made me giggle; 'After you quit smoking, objects may appear closer than they actually are.' Then I heard whisperings outside my booth. Great, I thought, now the door will swing open to reveal a mortified, chubby me, laughing maniacally.

So, yes. After admitting to myself that even though I could fit into one size above normal pants, I would never be able to sit down in them, I opted for comfort and self-honesty, and bought the pants two sizes larger. I was down for a bit, but then the realization hit me that I am a non-smoker, and really - who gives a rats bottom if I'm a bit plumper but so much more healthy?

Weight gain doesn't have to happen when one quits. I believe we have used smoking for so much emotional repression, that food just sort of takes the place of the fumes in filling the void. I also still maintain that better to carry a few pounds around that can eventually be lost, than an oxygen tank! And so what about a few pounds!

My skin is absolutely glowing! My eyes are bright, my breath is fresh, and I've gotten some double takes when I've been out and about. There's nothing sexier than health and confidence, and quitting smoking gives you both. In spades. Now I have to find a way to reach for a paint brush or swimming goggles or anything other than that chocolate bar. Mind over matter. It's not even a hunger or a craving, just a mindless 'filling' of something that needs to be replaced with something healthier. I've often heard it said it takes three weeks to break a habit, so now I just must find a better way to fill my time.

We live in a world of 'fast'. Fast-food, fast relief, fast healing. But sometimes, something that's really important to do takes a bit of time. There isn't always immediate relief and reward when we make a positive change in our lives. Sometimes we have to climb a bit of a mountain to get to see the spectacular view below. It would be nice if it was a downhill slope, but would we really appreciate it? Oh, heck - I would. Seriously, I really believe I could still appreciate a beautiful view if I got to it via nice comfy ski-do. But yes, I suppose there is that knowing, that development of inner strength, or perhaps recognition of it, that does make the climb worth it, that does heighten the poignancy of the view.

Sigh, okay, give me the ropes, I'll do it! In the meantime, I'll console myself with this; A friend of mine just joined Weight Watchers. At a recent meeting, the instructor asked everyone who had quit smoking to raise their hands. When about half of the attendees raised theirs she smiled and said, ' I used to smoke. And losing weight for you, will be a piece of cake.' Oooh, let's not say cake!