A Day without Menthols

It's day one in my quest to stop smoking, I've been up for two hours. Two hours have never seemed so interminable in my life. So, I decided to pull up the old blog and bitch to the world in general.
In keeping with this blog's nature, let me express my craving a bit more creatively:
I can't stand it: my hands are so restless, my mouth twitching, itching for a cigarette. The inside of my mouth is so dry, as arid as the Sahara, one might say. I must do something to quench this unending thirst. My hands trembling, I reach for the soda can. My soft pink bow-shaped mouth slides against the cold, wet can. The sweet liquid passes through my lips, caressing my tongue, chilling my uvula. It isn't enough, it can never be enough. My bodice heaves as my breathing becomes labored at the the thought of my next smoke. My emerald green eyes light up as I spot the slender blue lighter hidden amongst the papers on my desk. No, I mustn't, must I?
Yeah, a little over the top, I know. But I have to amuse myself somehow.
Spell-check doesn't recognize uvula, what the fuck?