  It's getting closer and closer to Day Twelve, isn't it. Actually, I think it already is Day Twelve. Early in Day Twelve, but we're there. For all those who are wondering what Day Twelve is: it is the fine line seperating madness and sanity. Day Twelve (referred to as DT from now on) is the day I cannot pass in my quest to end the awful nicotine addiction I too often find myself trapped in.
Everytime I try to quit them cancersticks, I have to give up my valiant attempt in defeating the drug on DT. It has been slowly building since DE (Day Eight) to surely come to a bombastic climax, fireworks and nachos included, on DT.
I can visualize myself crumbling now, succumbing to the nagging urge inside my Nicotine Bone (that spot inside your chest that longs for a fix, similar to the tickling of the 'Funny Bone'), falling to my knees while pleading to the skies above to end this madness, this torture! What works well is to be such an ass about everything: whining, moaning and shouting daily, that whoever lives with you, in my case: my roommate, can't stand it any longer and rushes out to buy you cigarettes.
Why this works: now you can blame your relapse into oblivion on the other person as you sit in your corner, gently stroking your halo and basking in innocence while huffing and puffing on your drug. But I have sworn to myself not to allow my devious addicted mind to do that this time. I will not be convinced by the drug induced voices that beg me to break and trample something my roommate holds so dearly to her sweet little heart, such as the glass picture frame that holds the photograph of her long lost mother, like last time.
(actually, her mom is still alive and doing well, but I'm just trying to make a point here) This time I will stand and shout like a French Revolutionary in those damn paintings: "VIVE LA LIBERTE! " as in, freedom from cigarettes. I'll be sure to keep you updated if anyone will still remember this two minutes from now. Whatever, right. 
