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non-smoking week

Note to Occupiers: If there was a week when populist movements managed to scare the beejezus out of elected officials, this was it. In a surprise move, President Obama on Wednesday rejected the permit to build the controversial Keystone XL pipeline, upon recommendations from the State Department. And the growing peoples' movement also managed to beat back the hugely contested SOPA and PIPA bills, aimed at curbing illegal music, movie and software sharing.

Meanwhile, in home news, a number of our contributors were experimenting with inhalants -- legal and illegal...
The bane of every smoker is the social smoker. Yet, social smokers, when refusing the coffin nail, often say they've quit. To quit tobacco is a struggle. But if I am ever to say I've quit, it's because I've quit, stopped, let go of the disgusting habit. Oh, and for the record, I've had three cigarettes today.
There's a gnawing in my stomach, as if a string of spikes is gently lodged against my gut. It's this that prevents me from eating; the stomach pains. In fact, a Big Mac Meal is the first thing eaten since waking up yesterday morning. I'm at six cigarettes. Usually by this point, I'd have smoked about 15.
I started smoking around the age of 16 when it was still glamorous (!) and no warnings of cancer, back in the early 50s. I worked myself up to a pack a day in my late teens, then smoked for the next 20 years. Everyone (including my parents and siblings) smoked in those days.
Quitting smoking is like breaking up with a lousy girlfriend who you've been dating for a long, long time. Sure she hurts you at times, she puts you in a bad mood, she's not always at hand when she ought to be. But it doesn't matter, because like with everything, once enough time elapses, a dependency is formed.
Day One: I need a cigarette. But I won't do it. If Odysseus can ignore the tempting screams of the Sirens, then I can ignore the pulsating migraine thumping against my skull.