Day what?

Ah, er, yes, what day is it? Now let me see... um, last Thursday was the day, I believe. Actually it was the Thursday before that. So that would make it? Day 11?

I haven't smoked for 11 days. I did smoke a couple of joints with Luke and Mark, last night and while I'm admitting that is dangerous territory and may even be quite foolish, I don't, actually, count it as smoking, as such. It is a slippery slope, though, don't get me wrong.

I have not smoked 330 cigarettes. I like putting it into numbers, it sounds more real. There are 330 times I didn't reach for my packet, I didn't slide the brown tip into my mouth, that I didn't flick the lighter in front of my face. It's weird, when I think of it in those terms, there really is an addiction going on, hey.

I didn't think of it all the time I was dealing with my arm, but as I was catching the train to Bolago, on Saturday, my first time out in the real world, after so many days at home, those insidious thoughts were straight back in my head. I've got time for a cigarette. But, since the first week of quitting had passed, they weren't excruciatingly strong and they were easy to deal with.

I'm not making any claims, it is a day at a time proposition, (I have given up 4 times this year, after all) but I feel much better for not smoking. I sleep better. I feel healthier, less coughing, less crap on my lungs, my chest feels less constricted. I have more money in my wallet and I have warm feet.

What's not to like?