It’s been 2 years, 6 months and 24 days since my last cigarette. And my first thought after the delicious lunch I just had: now, time for a cigarette. Just like that. I almost poured coffee and took it out in the balcony before realizing what I was doing. I don’t even have a memory of smoking in this house and my body was on auto pilot, taking the cup outside in the balcony were my cigarettes were supposed to be.
Just like that, 2 years, 6 months and 24 days of struggling were up in the air, like smoke. Only the need was there, like I’ve never quit.
Oh, GOD, does it ever go away?
Somebody give me a time machine so I can visit my teenage self and snatch the packet out of her hand. Anybody? Sheldon?
*Not so cool now!*