Somebody asked me the other day why I quit smoking. I could have said something about spite, or because my mother asked me to, or any number of equally semi-accurate reasons, but I the truth was it was the only thing I still got any pleasure out of, so I figured it would be best to figure out how to not have that anymore.
Itâ€™s been 213 days since I had a cigarette, but whoâ€™s counting? It doesnâ€™t really bother me much. Honestly, it was pretty easy. I still have half a box in my desk drawer at work, and thereâ€™s an open pack on top of my television at home. I still get the urge every once in a while, but it passes pretty quickly. Last night someone lit up next to me, and it didnâ€™t bother me at all. The fact that it was a cute girl probably didnâ€™t hurt. My main concern is that I donâ€™t turn into one of those anti-smoking douchebags. If anything, I find myself encouraging people to smoke. Someone has to keep the fine habit alive. Maybe Iâ€™ll start handing them out downstairs at the Boys & Girls Club.