Habits

The first thing I noticed, as I tried to come to grips with the idea that I had had a stroke, was how pernicious habits can be. After being in the hospital, where none of my routines were acknowledged, I came home with all sorts of good intentions.

I hadn’t been able to smoke while I was there and didn’t seem to think about it much. (Of course, I had no idea how to get to the outside from the sixth floor and wore an open back gown, which probably would have been as good as a sign saying, “This woman shouldn’t be here.” Even walking with authority and conviction probably wouldn’t do the trick, in that outfit.) Unfortunately, I had about 5 packs left from a carton, so although I rationed them, I was still smoking. They lasted about a week, after which point I was doing with the occasional mooched cigarette. Then last Sunday, I decided I couldn’t stand mooching and got a pack. That was a mistake. I think I’m going to have to trick myself and buy a pack, give it to a co-worker, who will be generous enough to dole one out to me, periodically. Somehow, the idea that I can NEVER have a cigarette scares the piss out of me.

I didn’t eat much in the hospital, wasn’t hungry, and thought this would be a good time to follow through with changing my admittedly lax eating habits. Again, that lasted for a few days here at home. Then I was back to my usual peanut butter on a spoon in the evening routine.

Habits are hellishly hard to break, once you’re back in your regular surroundings, doing your usual tasks.