A journey of a thousand miles and all that happy horseshit

Today is Chantix, day 1. Again.

I've put off taking the stupid pill all day.

"I should wait until I eat something."

"Well, I should walk the dog first." (I used this excuse three times.)

"Oh, I have to go to the bank and deposit these checks."

"It's nap time."

"I should eat something first."

Finally, about 10 minutes ago, I ate some multigrain crackers and cheese, poured myself a Coke and opened the box. God, I forgot how stupid the packaging is for this drug. It's all long, flat boxes with pull-tabs and trendy colors -- lime green and aqua with splashes of purple.

Getting into the box filled with other boxes was hard enough. Then I couldn't get the box containing the actual pills open. Perhaps this is a sign, I thought. I shouldn't do this now. Maybe later ...

For once, I pressed on. Actually it was more like tore and shredded my way on. I stared at the little white pills in their clear blisters for a couple seconds. The first three days you're supposed to take one 0.5 milligram tablet once a day.

You're supposed to take it in the morning. And apparently on a day when you wake up to see the sun shining. I know this because next to Pills One, Two and Three is the word "Morning" and a stylized representation of the sun rendered in purple.

I almost managed to convince myself that it certainly wasn't morning and that the sun wasn't expected to reappear until after the weekend -- but that was stupid.

So, at 5:12 pm on March 12 I swallowed the pill. I'm waiting for the nausea I know is coming, followed closely by the headache. I've done this before. I hated every second of it. And now, I have to do it again.