Nothing counts on vacation, right?

Look for the rule that says vacations don't count. There isn't one. But a few days in, you'll feel like there is. The days lose their edges. Nobody knows what time lunch was. The budget and the bedtime go soft, and everything starts to feel a little exempt. That exempt feeling is exactly what the old habit waits for.

It may not even feel like a craving. More like logistics, a reasonable footnote about trips being different. The cigarette is hoping you'll bring it home as a souvenir. But your inbox can set an away message. Who you are can't. This was never a rule you were following. It's a description of a person. Rules take time off. Descriptions don't.

The real risk is a shapeless week, not the beach or the bar. So give each day one fixed point that happens whatever else does. A morning swim. A walk to find breakfast. Ten minutes outside with God before the day starts. One pin keeps a loose week from drifting.

And look at what you've got. A whole trip with nothing to sneak off for. No hunting for cigarettes in a town where you can't read the signs. Every hour of this trip is yours. If you want words for it, borrow these. Thank You for a trip with nothing to manage. Bring home the photos. Leave the loophole at the hotel.