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Picking It Up, Kicking It Down, and the Curiosity That Killed the Cat
Moscow Ringroad
I haven't posted here for a while. That doesn't mean that I have abandoned the project of quitting smoking, but sometimes life happens. It's only natural.

Today I enter my 3rd week as a non smoker, but wonder if it wouldn't have been better just to proceed taking the poison, because the world smells awful, obviously. Yes, I am referring to the fact that my ability to a more nuanced sense of smell is beginning to return and it struck me only today as I was getting off the bus being struck in the face by a stench of sweat, bad breaths and ...cigarettes. I realized that those odors had always been there, but that there was this concrete reason why I kept on missing it.

If anyone interpreted the above as an excuse to give up, don't worry - it's called sarcasm. And irony.

So how have I been holding up during this past week of non scribbling?
I'm afraid the answer is "so so". Last Sunday I was struck by the same kind of curiosity that killed the cat (possibly, Schödinger's) and decided to smoke a cigarette, just because I wanted to find out how my body would react on it after one week of abstinence. I was sure that the outcome would be nausea and a spinning head, but as I'm still using the patches, the effects were of course nothing like that. The effects were nothing but a bad taste in my mouth. The action of smoking gave me nothing. The old habit is slowly leaving my life, but still there is the thought - the entire idea of smoking. It's a memory and a ghost and the manifest of restlessness. 

Today I felt the first real urge to smoke ever since deciding to quit, and therefore I'm finally beginning to realize what kind of devil will be clinging on to my back for yet some time. This is nothing but a test of my strength.

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And yes, that's a picture of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant.

There are worse things to smoke than cigarettes...

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