Dear Chantix

Its over between us. Yes, just yesterday I was considering another month of your wonderful nauseating, bloating, mind scrambling effects, but last night’s vivid dream was the end of our relationship.

Granted, I didn’t really mind the whole getting carjacked and losing my precious RAV to hoodlums, nor was I really disturbed with being shot in the back, or having hubby complaining about bleeding on his leather seats as he drove me to the hospital.

No, the last straw for me was how you made us drive all over the place looking for a hospital because we couldn’t figure out how to make a phone call on my iPhone. I think you already know that my love for the iPhone outweighs any of the benefits you provide me. I am willing to forego the morning and evening nausea after taking you, the noxious gas, the bloated feeling, and even the “I don’t give a rat’s ass about anything” attitude that comes from not being able to have 1 clear thought for more than 2 seconds that I’ve had with you.

As I sit here, craving all manner of junk food and the potential of bloating up to a gazillion pounds and ending up on a Learning Channel show that highlights several construction workers hauling me out of the roof on a crane because I’m too big to fit through a door, at least I don’t want to smoke and that’s what you were there for. I’m going Chantix cold turkey now, mmmm turkey sandwich with deviled eggs.

So, this is good-bye... well, sorta because I know I’ll have to wean myself from you slowly, so I’ll just take you in the morning so I’ll be brain dead by day, which is what I prefer.