Falling off the wagon (almost)

I almost fell of the Nicorette wagon yesterday. After a long couple of weeks in which I could get seemingly nothing commissioned, a magazine editor dropped the one piece I was supposed to be working on. It was too much. It brought me right to snapping point: I paced the streets, circled a few pharmacies and even went inside one and stared longingly at the boxes of nicorette on the shelves. I imagined my excuses to my wife: they pushed me too far. It doesn't do any harm. just while I finish this draft of the book. But then I "played the tape", as they say in recovery. I imagined what the whole thing would feel like, the moment the immediate thrill of relapse had passed. The drama of falling off the wagon would soon be replaced by the flat, weary, suckered feeling on the other side of it. That's the feeling I was heading towards. I turned around and walked home again, trying to content myself with the thought of the sugar-free Orbit I knew I had at home. Orbit sucks.