Yesterday was a quite notable day on my calendar. It wasn’t just another (thirty-ninth, to be precise) anniversary of the Lunokhod 1 landing on the Moon. Yesterday was exactly one month since I quit smoking.
How did I do it?
I didn’t read Allen Carr. I didn’t put a loads of nicotine patches all over me. I didn’t even need to summon all my willpower to quit smoking. I did nothing like that.
Well, actually, I didn’t do anything at all.
On Friday evening I decided to quit smoking and went to sleep.
On Saturday morning I bought a cartload of cakes, cookies and chocolates. I managed to avoid a cigarette stand at the checkout successfully since my Friday’s urge to quit was still very strong.
The rest of the Saturday and the whole Sunday I spent in my apartment eating sweets every time I craved for a smoke and sleeping most of the time.
That’s all. That weekend was the most difficult part of all quitting process. On Monday it was much easier. I still craved from time to time but eating a candy or chewing a gum helped to soothe it.
Now, after a full month of smoke free life I’m still experiencing something that I can describe like acute envy for the smokers. And it’s quite understandable. I was smoking for a dozen of years or so. It means I was spending at least half an hour every single day doing one thing and now I feel a bit lonely without it. Hopefully, it will disappear in a month or two more.
