I picked a terrible time to quit. Truthfully, there is never a good time. Life is never easy, at least not for long periods of time. I'm 3.5 days quit and this is my umpteenth attempt at quitting. The shortest was six hours, the longest, six months. After a terribly difficult day I saw a friend and fellow smoker. We were chatting on her porch like countless other nights and I picked up one of her Parliaments. I felt the recessed filter between my lips and paused for a moment. I didn't really want it. I resisted habit and muscle memory, removed the cigarette from my lips and placed it back in her pack. I sat there for an hour and a half while she chain smoked, engrossed in our conversation, and I was okay. It didn't hit me until just now how important that small gesture was for me. It is always the "one cigarette" that pulls me back in after hundreds of dollars on nicotine replacement, counseling, hypnosis and months of diligent abstinence. Not today.
