just say no.
Anyone who's ever been stupid enough to put one of those filter-tipped death sticks to the edge of their lips in the first place knows exactly what happened: a stressful day coming at the end of a particularly harried week; a couple drinks on a Friday night to dilute the tension with alcohol, an internal dialog that ironically mirrors the Five Stages of Grief, and next thing you know, your lungs are filled up with the sweet taste of possible cancer and emphysema.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
On the other hand, I am smoking quite a bit less - though not as little as I promised myself I would, when I lit up again ("just the one pack and I'm back on the wagon...") - but I was positively smouldering that last week before I "quit".
...which I'm realizing was part of the problem. Once upon a time, I quit for four years - cold turkey - with no real problems. But that was over ten years ago, and I hadn't been smoking for nearly as long, then.
So I've got a plan this time: four cigarettes a day this week, three the next, then two... until I quit (once-and-for-freaking-all) on the 18th.
(And I've been smoking those "all-natural" cigarettes, that take so long to burn down that you almost don't even want to stand there smoking them any more)
Almost.
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