Tobacco: the Devil's Weed

Never, ever start smoking.
This weekend I have gone through agony trying to quit.
I am chewing Nicorette, I have eight little acupuncture balls in my ears that I press when I start to go insane, I am taking special stop-smoking Chinese herbs that make me pee every 45 minutes, and I am still jonesing for a cig.
If you do try to quit, DO NOT schedule it on a weekend that involves having custody of a cute but highly nutty night owl of an 89-year-old mother.
Okay, let me be honest. Now that she's gone home and I've had a chance to sleep uninterrupted for a few hours, I am not exactly jonesing for a cig.
That happened last night around 10, when Mama emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed and wanting me to call her a taxi for an 85 mile return trip to Austin.
That was right after she reported to me that my wealthy sister (who cares for her like a fine porcelain doll) was filching money from her little coin purse.
I was so exasperated by then, I actually got in my car and headed for a convenience store, where I had intended to buy a pack of cigs and smoke them two at a time, all night, until it was time for her to go home. But I simmered down and ended up buying gas instead.
I won't start again, I don't think.
Perhaps quitting during the most trying of times is the best approach.
If I didn't light up during this weekend, I can think of practically nothing that would make me start up again.