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One day you smoke a cigarette, and you think “I’ve been smoking ten years, now. It’s time I quit”. And so you quit.

In the first three or four hours you feel elated and spiritual and in line with your beautiful soul. You let your imagination roam and plan glorious feats to be done with all the money and time and clean fingers and health you’re saving. You start printing the lyrics to all the songs you’ll finally be able to sing. You think that you’ll need to do something with your hands the first moment you think of smoking a cigarette. Something nice and soothing like knitting, or bread sculptures. You start reversing all the pro-smoking quotes you’ve used all your life to excuse yourself with your friends. “I want to see that rainy week!”. You feel all innocent and devoid of cynicism.

From the fifth hour onwards, you start feeling a bit awkward. You download an app for your phone with your non-smoking statistics and you realize that so far you’ve only skipped one cigarette but you already feel like shit. You put on Trainspotting and watch it in a wholly new perspective. You inadvertently eat everything that’s near you. You can’t think of anything else.


In the evening, you start searching motivational quotes. You watch pics of lung tumours and of Anne Bancroft in Great Expectations. You feel a bit nervous and very sensitive. You can’t think of anything else.

You go to sleep and realize that:

1) 3000 calories were your energy intake for the day. Most of it came from bubble gums and candy.
2) Cigarettes are really your best friends and family, because you miss smoking much more than you miss the most important people in your life.
3) If you see a knitting needle around, you’ll certainly stick it in your thigh.

I’ve quit. I’ve quit. I’ve quit. I’ve quit. I’ve quit. I’ve quit. I’ve quit. I’ve quit. I’ve quit. O.ò

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