It all starts, as it always does, with some private matter, and with a heavy smoker (more than a pack of red Malboro per day) who loved smoking and took one too many hurtful reproaches from his companion who, on her side, hated the smell.
That night, I had had enough, and threw all the remaining packs & cartons in the trashcan. That was it, I quit.
I had already, vaguely, tried to quit before, a few years back, out of desperation and boredom more than anything else, but I had too much free time and too little will to succeed — in many things, mind you.
Then there's the routine, the habit in the mind, the habit in the body: that seemed to me like the obstacle.
That night, later in bed, I found the unexpectedly simple answer: I just had to fool myself.
