Ever since I said I would quit smoking, I've been smoking hundreds more cigarrettes. I thought the first of January was miles away until I woke up the thirty first December and I thought: "the day has come". I was "allowed" to smoke during New Year's eve but not more, and because I still hadn't the idea of quitting smoking in my head, I think that night was the one I smoked the most of the more or less eight hundred nights I've ever smoked. Why, you'll ask yourself? Well, there's no explanation there. I just thought that if that night was to be the last one I could ever breath in that dark smoke down my lungs; I'd get the most of it.
So, there I was, three days ago, smoking about thirty cigarrettes in about five hours time, seeming to be a chimeney.
Three days after, the third of January, I'm sitting on an uncomfy chair in the Uni's library, willing for a cigarrette. Why did I think this time would be different? What made me think I could quit so easily? Nevertheless, smoking is classified as a soft drug.
On the other hand, I have to say, I promised myself as well as my mum and boyfriend; among other people, that I would quit on the first of this month.
I don't think I'll be able to survive the exams period without having a lightened cigarrette bar between my lower and upper lips, how am I to stay awakened without that every half-hour dosis of nicotine in my blood.
The thing is: why did I choose to achieve such stupid and difficult purpose in 2011? I want a car. I don't know which one, it's not as if I really cared, I just want and NEED a way of moving around on my own, without having to depend on public transport or my mum.
So, girl, this is it. You chose it that way...
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