A couple of days ago he'd woken up and looked at the calendar on his phone - three whole weeks without smoking. They had been the longest three weeks of his life.
Three weeks of morning routines, stresses at work, meals and coffees, and even a hookup, all without a single cigarette to accompany them. He was told it would get easier with time, but strangely with every passing day the temptation to smoke again only grew stronger. It was more than the physical sensation he missed - it was the psychological comfort his cigarettes provided as well.
Distracted and on the verge of faltering on his commitment, he'd been looking for something else when he suddenly spotted his emergency pack at the back of a drawer - that one pack every sensible smoker keeps hidden away somewhere safe for just such a situation.
He knew it was a sign. The decision to quit had been foolish, and the discovery of this pack was his past self giving him permission to end this needless farce and just light up.
He'd pounced on that pack with a vengeance, inhaling that first cigarette with a desperate hunger he hadn't realized his lungs had had in them. The nicotine rush had been intense and thrilling, making him lightheaded for a second like those first few times as a teenager. His lungs, though well used to plenty of smoke, had nevertheless thrown up a quick cough in protest. Not that it, or anything else for that matter, could stop him now.
That was two days ago. Tonight, as he lights his third cig in a row and exhales in a pair of well formed nose jets, it's as if that three week interlude never happened. His lungs and brain relaxed and settled back into their old familiar routine.
He found his old habits had not been forgotten, the way he instinctively reached for his pack when stepping out of a building, for instance. And the old pathways of pleasure in his brain were only too happy to be stimulated again. The same dose of nicotine that had given him that acute rush now gave him the pleasant mellow satisfaction he had grown so accustomed to over the years.
As he'd bounced back to his nearly 2 ppd ways almost overnight, his lungs were overwhelmed on the first day. But tonight, as he finished his third cig and got ready to light a fourth, they were open and welcoming, and he found it easy to fill them right up with as much rich, flavorful smoke as he wanted.
In his mind there was no doubt that those three weeks had been an ill-advised mistake. The next three weeks on the other hand...
dededos
jbbartram-illu
pixelskylines
annaxmalina
blakekathryn
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