I am going to quit smoking.
Cigarettes are dirty, nasty, smelly, vile, expensive and life-robbing. They are also seductive, sublime, social, soothing, and fraught with delightful little rituals. It's quite a heady feeling breathing fire; matched only by the light-headedness one gets when choking up wads of mucous-tar in the wee morning hours.
I've quit smoking before. I spent a good year-and-a-half blissfully living life without sucking on shit-sticks. Almost a year ago, though, I got complacent. I got cocky. I thought the Nasty Nicotine Monkey wouldn't notice if I had a wee little smoke to compliment my Screwdriver as I was actually winning on a rare night spent at the blackjack table of a local casino. "Look over there, Nasty Monkey!" Monkey diverted. Phht. Light 'er up.
Oh, but the money was NOT diverted. Sneaky little rat-bastard was just biding his time. Waiting for that first, innocent pack to run out...one day...then two days...then four...then, SHRIEK! The fangs come out, bite you in the back of the head, and suddenly, the Nasty Nicotine Monkey is once again riding you piggy back, forcing you to feed him whilst he simultaneously tries to bang your back pocket, if you get my drift. You are now its little zombie, a fresh pack bought and in your purse before you can remember parking. And he laughs and laughs.
Well, no more! I am on my last pack of cigarettes; there will be no more, stupid Nasty Monkey! In fact, (please pardon my vulgarity) fuck off, monkey! Fuck right the hell off!
Wow, that felt good. That felt really good.
Man, could I use a smoke.
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