Someone else is joining in too, although I don't know if her "tomorrow" is extending further than just a single day.
It's now seventy-four hours. Some people have said that withdrawl lasts about two days: some claim a week or more. I suppose it depends how dependent the patient is at the outset. I still miss it: I can't walk across the concourse of a London railway terminal without catching a sniff, and I still have to fight it.
Last night the stepson stood in the kitchen waving a jar of instant under my nose, saying things like "Mmmm, coffee" and "the kettle's on anyway, you might as well have one" and so on. Evil bastard, he is. I poured myself a strawberry and banana smoothie and went and sat down in front of the telly.
Shortly afterwards, he came in with two mugs. He put one on his computer desk and came over with the second. "Clear a space, quick," he said, "It's hot."
He shifted the remotes and sat the mug on the table. I hammerred furiously away at the laptop and glared at him.
Later I looked at the mug. It was empty. He's not so bad really.
I think that my enemy is habit, rather than lack of resolve.
There's a girl with a van on the London bound platform at Ascot Station who does coffees. On Tuesday she wasn't there. Yesterday I was at the office and not in London. This morning I arrived at the station at the same time as my train, so there wasn't any hanging around on the platform. Sooner or later I'll be waiting there and she'll be open and she'll ask me if I want my usual, and habit will take over, and half-way through my second mouthfull I'll realise what I've done and think "sod it" and I'll be back where I started.
I'm only typing this now to stop me falling asleep as I wait for the client at the other site to call me back ...