The Weak-end (24 hours since last cigarette)

So we're at a friend's house-warming in Hopper's Crossing on Saturday, and my house-mate Narelle hands me her cigarette butt and asks me if I'd be a doll and put it out for her. I stared at her as she was holding it out to me, waiting for her to realise who she'd asked. It was like watching the midnight sky for dawn.

The butt was still smoking, and there was enough for just one little drag. You can imagine what went through my head. If you can't, let me ask you something: would you pass a syringe with junk left in it to a injecting drug user in rehab, asking if they'd mind putting the needle in a yellow box, or pass an almost empty pint of beer to someone in AA and ask them to rinse the glass out?

I should hope not.

With a deep, smoke-free breath I managed to put it out, without taking that last drag, and it was another beer and a full twenty minutes later before I sidled up to Narelle and asked for a cigarette.

To be honest, it weren't all that. Not that it didn't stop me from having two more throughout the course of the party, but there wasn't that feeling of 'this is the best cigarette ever'.

Maybe it was because there was a big issue made amongst all those there, most of whom I didn't know, about me quitting, so I felt too self-conscious to truly enjoy the moment. Maybe it was because I'd thought about it too much and built my expectations too high. Maybe it was tainted by feelings of failure and guilt for being weak. Or maybe it's because cigarettes are made up of a mixture of toxic chemicals that when burnt become noxious fumes.

Who knows?