So after an incident with my car bring broken into followed by about $60 in airport parking, I embarked on a road-trip back home, chain-smoking all the way because -apparently, my body has become so accustomed to living in the Inner West that I need a portable cloud of smog trailing me everywhere.

This short story has an ending. Namely that that was my last packet of cigarettes and I haven’t had a smoke for roughly a month.

The sequel to this story is that I’m hating every second of it. Turns out smoking fulltime for three years means you really get into smoking.

Before my brain made a loud popping sound and internally collapsed in on itself, I could handle not smoking. I could handle the withdrawals, the anxiety, the “last cigarettes” without a thought. These days it’s a bit different (thanks, anxiety and depression). Even just the musty waft from a cigarette sitting in a nearby ashtray will send my brain into riot mode and it takes a particular amount of willpower not to shank the offending smoker for the rest of the pack. I’m pretty sure if I wasn’t constantly grumpy and irritable to begin with, people would comment on the fact that I’m constantly grumpy and irritable, everything is stupid and I want to punch everyone in their stupid faces.

All in all it’s been pretty terrible and it feels like I’m going it alone because practically none of my friends smoke anymore. The ones who do are in for the long-haul and are quite happy stinking like ashtrays and let me tell you, the Cult of Nicotine are a very welcoming and forgiving bunch towards those who stray from the flock.

“C’mon maaaate, you know you want one”

“it doesn’t count if you don’t pay for ’em!”

“I’m just going to leave it on the table here, kay?”

Eurgh… At least it’s not the “God Hates Fags” dudes I suppose.

I downloaded some quit smoking app a few days ago and fucked around with it for a few minutes here and there. It has quotes and stuff like ‘don’t stop now! You’re doing so well!”

Apparently it has games to distract you or something but I think it’s broken. Oh, and I can phone a friend if so they can verbally bitchslap me upside the head for thinking of having a smoke. I put all my smoker-friends’ details in there in the name of irony.

But whatever. It’s a nice thought.

You know what else is a nice thought? Having a fucking cigarette.

Man, I miss cigarettes.

On the other hand, not dying of cancer is also a pretty nice thought. Along with less asthma attacks, more energy and money and not reeking of old cigarettes every day. So I guess I’m stuck in this weird “should I?/shouldn’t I?” limbo where few men fear to tread.

As I said before, it’s been roughly a month. My brain has stopped misfiring now and I don’t want to punch people anymore. I’m still an arsehole, but maybe that’s a chemical imbalance or something. Oh, and I’m playing a shitload of Call of Duty to keep my brain occupied so I’m not lusting after some overpriced rolled-up nicotine. It still sucks and it’ll be 10 years before I’m all back to normal again, but apparently it’s worth it. The leaflet at the pharmacist told me so. Not sure if I want my sense of smell/taste back because I live near a fishmonger, but hey.

All of this, of course, can be foiled completely by going down to the convenience store down the road and buying “one more pack”. Pretty sure Emperor Palpatine’s in my head being all like “something something dark side, something something, just have a fucking cigarette, you pussy”.

To continue this shitty analogy, all the people who are supporting me are Luke Skywalker, and I’m Darth Vader, looking around being all like “what the fuck do I do now?”

I guess we’ll see if I’m going to throw the old fart down a reactor shaft or not.

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