Clumsy.

Normally I am pretty clumsy, but lately it is as if I am missing a few fingers, maybe a whole hand. That is kind of how quitting smoking feels to me. Dropping things, knocking things over, bumping into people, pets, things.

I just took my bike to return a movie we rented and decided to stop at The Garden, which is a whole foods store in my neighborhood. Just shopping there makes me feel healthy, even if I buy cookies and pate (which is exactly what I bought, and some apples and squash too). Then I decided to go to the expensive pharmacy where they sell pretty, overpriced soaps and bath salts, etc. Everytime I go there something happens that makes me feel like a complete oaf. I don't why. The store is very small and everything is just so. The sales ladies always follow me around as if I am going to vandalize the place, which only makes me feel as if I should. Well, everything went as it usually does, with me looking around and changing my mind 7 million times between the eucalyptus scented dead sea bath salts or the lavender dead sea bath salts. I went with lavender. As I was paying the old lady next to me took my bag (with my purchases in it). I realized this as the sales lady was handing me back my change. So I stuffed the change in my purse and ran out after the old lady. This caused quite a commotion.

The sales lady naturally thought I was stealing something, so she chased after me and I was chasing after the old lady. I stopped the old lady who looked at me as if I was insane and I swear she was about to reach for some mace or something, but I explained what happened and she realized she took my bag and hers. She handed over my bag and was very sweet and apologetic. As I was assuring her that it wasn't a problem, the sales lady, still eyeing me somewhat suspiciously, realized, at least that I wasn't a criminal and we were all about to share a little chuckle over this misunderstanding when I dropped my purse, which was still wide open from hurriedly stuffing my change inside. Suddenly all the contents of my purse were scattered on the sidewalk and quickly blowing away. Money (as in dollar bills) were scattering to the wind, lip balm, ipod, cell phone, random phone numbers, random business cards, wierd, embarassing, personal notes to myself and of course tons of change everywhere.

Promptly the old lady and the sales lady turned on their heels and bolted. I was on my hands and knees chasing down dollar bills and mashing them into my purse, while people stared on with pity. A man who was passing by came the closest of all to actually helping, only he decided it would be best to stand off to the side and holler directions, such as, "hey, you wanna grab the money and put that away first cuz' that'll blow away...then you can get the change and stuff cuz' that aint goin' nowhere, know what I'm sayin'? That's it, you got it...hey there's a book of matches over here, that yours?"

After thanking the man who so kindly shouted directions I unlocked my bike and road home.

I think I am going to go take a relaxing lavender scented dead sea salt bath, do some deep breathing and imagine I am in a wide open field of green grass and wild flowers and birds are chirping and all is well and then I will eat some cookies.

The other night I catered a party in a private loft space. Everyone, and I mean, everyone was smoking. Two weeks and two days ago I would have been in paradise. This job was an easy one to begin with, so on top of the cake, I would have just leaned back, grabbed my champange flute and lit up a few. Only, now I don't smoke. I quit. I am an ex-smoker.

In social situations I am pretty good, because my friends are really supportive and great. However, these people were not my friends. I used to instantly seek out the smokers in any crowd, now I find myself seeking out the non-smokers, especially the quitters. Not surprisingly, an hour into the event I am chatting with a guy who has just quit. We are comiserating about how difficult it will be to see people light up. He tells me that he has not smoked in three days. Like a preschool teacher, I congratulate this accomplishment. I tell him that I haven't smoked in two weeks.

"Yeah, but, you still have nicotine in your system" he says with just the right touch of condescension to make me hate him forever. "I quit cold turkey, so, by now I have no nicotine in my system."

He is refering to the transparent NicoDerm CQ patch on my upper arm. I shouldn't have said anything.

"Uh, yeah, I guess so," I say.

About an hour later the room is so full of cigarette smoke that my eyes are burning. I am scowling and squinting into the thick haze when I manage to see Cold Turkey guy smoking in the corner, surrounded by smokers. Traitor.

It is strange, because what bothers me most about the smoke, aside from the cravings, is the smell. For two weeks I had been enjoying the new and wonderful experience of NOT smelling like an ashtray for a change and now, through no fault of my own, with the combined effort of everyone's Malboro Lights I instantly smelled as if I'd chain smoked a pack of Pall Malls. I hate Marlboro Lights. I liked smelling clean, like soap and clean clothes and shampoo. I liked being able to smell my own perfume.

I'm getting a headache. I want to punch the woman in front of me who accidentally ashes on my arm, while excitedly waving her cigarette around in the telling of a story. Instead I fix her with a glare that feels familiar, not because I have used it before, but because it has been used on me. It is the non-smokers glare.

I need fresh air, or at least relatively fresh air and so I head to the kitchen for a minute, to pace back and forth and mumble under my breath "...stupid freaking cigarette smoke and stupid freaking cigarette smokers....God."

No, the irony does not escape me. I am fully aware that two weeks ago I would have been filling the room with smoke, without a care in the world. I have ashed, accidentally on people. I have burnt peoples jackets accidentally with my own cigarettes. I have had people cough loudly and meaningfully in front of me while I smoked.

So, I am in hell. I know that.

Earlier, when Cold Turkey guy and I were chatting he mentioned something about Malcolm Gladwell's The Tipping Point. He said "Yeah, Malcolm Gladwell has this whole chapter about smokers, and how they are different."

"Oh yeah?" I said "Like how?" I am imaginig, say, shorter life spans, stinkier breath, more nuerotic.....

"Well, like basically he says they are the coolest people on earth." Cold Turkey guy said.

Although I was fairly sure that Cold Turkey guy had somehow misread that chapter, I hadn't read it at all and so I didn't quite feel up to the task of arguing.

"Great," I said, instead. Great, as in I am soooooooo glad that you are telling me this right now, in this very moment. Thanks.

I am taking deep breaths (sighing heavily) in the kitchen when the Chinese chef asks me if I want a dumpling.

"No thanks, okay yes," I say.

With a pair of chopsticks, he expertly extracts a perfect lotus root and horseradish steamed dumpling from the bamboo steamer and offers it to me.

"I quit smoking" I say, for no reason.

"Me too" he says.

"Wow, really?" I say, mouth full.

"Yeah, you want another?" He asks extending another dumpling towards me.

"Sure, what the hell," I say.

"Why nobody eating? Have too much food, nobody eats" The chef says, waving the chopsticks through the air, angrily.

"Ha," I scoff with satisfaction "they are all too busy smoking".

"Yeah," says the chef "me, I gain thrity pounds when I quit smoking. I used to be real skinny, now, I fat". He is shaking his head sorrowfully and patting his belly.

I swallow the dumpling.

"You like pork?" he asks me, fishing for another dumpling.

"Uh, no, no thanks. Maybe later," I say and back out of the kitchen slowly.

Right, so, let's see. Smokers: cool, skinny. Non-smokers: uncool, fat.

I am in a very bad mood the rest of the night.

But, I manage, somehow, not to smoke.

When I get home I throw what I now refer to as "the smoke clothes" in the laundry bag and take a long shower. For the rest of the night I intermittently smell my clean hair and smile. I am no longer cool....I may no longer be skinny....but my hair smells good.