Ten days nicotine free, and it kind of sucks.
I'm not in any kind of mad climbing-the-walls ripping-my-hair-out withdrawal. I never smoked a lot -- half a pack in a day was a real binge. Besides, I often took a day or two off, usually weekends, since I didn't smoke around my wife and kids, so the first few days were actually not a big deal. I haven't had any huge temptations, but the thought of a cigarette crosses my mind alot, and I know that I'll have to decide not to start again about a million times. (I say this from lots of experience -- as the old joke goes, I'm very good at quitting, I've done it dozens of times.)
On the other hand, I miss the excuse to take a break, sneak off, misbehave a bit. I miss the outlet for my gloom. When I'm miserable and angry and sad, I want to go off by myself and smoke and be hard and bitter and tough and don't-give-a-damn. I don't want to sit here trying not to cry.
Machine Head, and Sweet Child O Mine, and Sabotage, and Mirror People painfully loud in my headphones. If I can't ruin my lungs, how about my eardrums?
Thinking about it makes it worse.