Health and Medicine

This. I really want to quit.

"Red, gold and green -Karma Chameleon?"

You're all set for work. Hair shampooed. Conditioned. Blow-dried. Fixed. Put on the best perfume. Dressed freshly pressed. And you'll pass through thousand candidates of lung cancer victims at the main entrance of the office. Blowned by their smoke. In red. Gold. Green. And sometimes with indonesian tobacco. Choco flabvored bat cigars. You want to beat all of them, but you end up joining them. And you enter the office with a smell like you've been cooking in your grandmother's dirty kitchen.

You're cutting your life short in every 15-30 minute breaks of your daily office life with every cigarette butts you ticked on the cigarette bin. And there's fire. You wanna spit fire instead of the exhaling the smoke up in the air. As soon as the smoke fades, you see you're dead and you can't even solicite a coffin from the Philip Morris Company.

My mentor told me that to quit smoking is to stop right away.

This is my resolution. Not this year. Not on my birthday. Maybe until I'll meet someone who can convince me to stop.

What am I talking?

.

Just last week,
I broke my new year's resolution:
never to drink Red Horse again.

PP asked me to chill with 1 Litre of it at City 24.
I told him I'll buy my own bottle of rhum but to my dismay the place he chose doesn't sell hard liquors.
We rushed the first bottle but an old gentleman joined us.
We added another one.
Lionel arrived so another bottle was purhased.
I went home consuming shared 5 litres of RH.

Successfully,
I was able to refuse temptation this morning when March celebrated her post-birthday bash at G-Mik.
I'd successfully turned down the shot when I decided not to attend and resigned myself to sleeping.
I passed the day and turned down the beer.

"Will never beer again."

"Why I just couldn't resist?"

.