Smokin'

I packed up about four months ago, I used to be anything from six to ten-a-day, at one time 15-a-day. I smoked Marlboro Golds and had done so since fourteen. I quit mainly because I was thinking about quitting anyway, partially because I was cash-poor, and also because I was too ill to smoke at the time (I had the flu for about three weeks.) It was difficult, on top of the symptoms of the flu - typical cold symptoms and vomiting, loss of appetite and a burning throat - I had to deal with nicotine withdrawal symptoms. Which, unless you've given up smoking yourself, you wouldn't understand.
I never started because my friends did it or simply to be cool, I did it because I liked it and that is that. I was aware of the 'peer pressure' but didn't allow that to be a factor in my judgement. I liked the smell, the fact that when me and my two best friends smoked we'd really talk, and also the fact that I could rely on it. Life's pretty unreliable, your friends can get pissed off with you and not talk to you for three weeks, you could drop from the top in the class to the underachiever, you could work endlessly on a project and still be eclipsed by some moron who hadn't worked half as hard as you did... A pack of 20 always cost £6.25 and when I lit up it was like all the bullshit in my life just 'lifted' always.
I would smoke behind 'the trees' at school, with my head out of the window at home, and as I walked down the High-Street in town. I loved it, it became a part of me that even my most judgmental friends eventually accepted. I didn't let it change me, I was still the same guy and my teeth stayed white.
The idea that what I was doing was damaging me felt ridiculous; at the time.

Two and a half years later I don't smoke, And it's weird to think that because I always smoked. I never left the house (or returned) without a pack and a zippo; even today when I get stressed the first thing my mind thinks is 'cigarette' and my hands sometimes even dive into my bag after one; only to find a magazine, my wallet and a phone.
The transition left me with worse skin, I broke out when I quit and my skin hasn't quite calmed down since. I detest that. People used to ask me if I spent hundreds of pounds on skincare because I had such good skin. I would say something like "Ooh, I sware by 'Clinique Scrubs'" or "Kiehl's Soothing Lotions" the truth being that all I ever needed was bog-standard Clearasil in the mornings; now my skin... it isn't bad but it's far from its enviable former glory.
Quitting hasn't given me much to celebrate, I was moody and didn't talk to anyone. I snapped out at nice people; and when I finally got over that and went out to see friends they would talk about their neuroses and I would have to pull a face like I cared while I tried to push the subconscious chant: 'Smoke... smoke... smoke...' out of my head. Then I would go out with old smoking buddies and they'd look at me expectantly whilst they lit up, I would stare at the floor until they remembered why I wasn't joining in; and then try to inhale as much passive smoke as I could.

I guess what provoked this was last Tuesday at Cafe Nero's ; I was having a nightmare day, the pattern I had spent two days drawing out for this design was fundamentally flawed and would require serious overtime to repair. So I did what I always do in this situation and took a long lunch (knowing after that I wouldn't be taking lunch until it was finished) I ordered a huge Cappuccino, a giant ciabatta and my usual sad spot by the window. I pulled out my copy of 'Wuthering Heights' and sat there like nothing in the world could possibly piss me off. I suddenly remembered what I would've done five months ago; stood outside and chain-smoked, and to be honest, I missed it.
I missed everything I described, the rush, the taste... the bubbly, smiley person I was when I smoked.
Now I am moodily sitting in a Cafe with a burnt coffee pretending to give two shits about 'Mr Lockwood's clumsy dealings with Heathcliff and Joseph.

I have not yet succumbed to the temptation that is the rack of smokes behind the cashier at Tesco Express, but it's there. Every time I go to buy a Mars bar. 'Smoke... smoke... smoke...'