I've quit smoking yesterday, figured out I need to stop before I'm seriously addicted. Right.

Anyways I'm starting to feel the effects of quitting — the craving for candy (I've quit candy simultaneously), nervousness, hate towards those lucky beasts who are free to inhale the holy smoke into their unworthy lungs. All the standards and cliches.

But the real problem is that it's a self-imposed restriction, only as strong as my will to uphold it. It's so strange, to have two perfectly defined and vivid, opposed fractions in one's head. I know I wanna smoke up — not only crave it physically, but really, really want to — and at the same time I'm almost sure I don't want to, because it's gonna kill me or something.

Blunts are now the only nicotine-ridden thing I that ingest. Well, inhume, but you know what I mean. Which could prove to be a problem — the inhuming, not the knowing — 'cause now it's a two-in-one drug, so I could want it twice as much.

Well, we'll see. It would be far easier to quit if I had someone to keep me to it, but if I can manage it with someone's help, I can also do it alone. Talkin' ain't nuthin'.