Thanks to a bout of nolo virus or salmonella or food poisoning I got from a plate of fried chicken about a week ago, I spent most of my winter vacation sleeping (and pooping), which provided the perfect opportunity to quit smoking for the 129th time.
So right after I post this message, I, for the first time in almost a year, will make the two-hour journey home without smoking the three ritual cigarettes I normally do. Nonsmokers won’t understand why this is such a big deal, but current and ex-smokers will. The cigarettes you associate with certain places and activities are the the most difficult ones to quit.
If I didn’t announce this publicly, I could easily picture myself buying a pack on the way home.
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