For those of you playing at home, that would apparently be $119.95 for Billy Bob the plumber to come out on a Saturday, poke around a bit, do things to my sewage access that you couldn't pay me enough to do, and in the end inform me that god damn, I have a lot of hair.

But at least now I can walk in my bathroom without fainting.

Sigh.

My house has just suffered catastrophic failure of things plumbing related. There is stuff in my bathtub that I don't want to see in my bathtub. (Yes, this is two days after I scoured down the bathroom.) My landlords are nowhere to be found. I'm left wondering how much it costs to bring in a plumber on a Saturday.

Sigh.

And yes. I do want one very badly right now. Very badly.

A big congratulations to the person who hit my site yesterday while searching for "vacum porn". I'm absolutely positive that you didn't find what you were looking for.

Chet decided 3:45 AM was feeding time this morning. I look at it this way - if he keeps going at this rate, by Monday, I'll just be able to stay up late and feed him before I go to bed and get a decent night's sleep.

Mood today is somewhat...hmmm. I don't know really. I'm not sure if this whole non-smoking thing is making me more 'touchy' than normal, but I'm busy with overanalyzing, fretting, kicking myself for a variety of things - pretty much all those things that make me think life would be easier if I just locked myself in a closet and didn't come out for 30 years. Or something like that.

On a positive note, in an attempt to keep myself busy and away from cigarettes, I cleaned the hell out of my bathroom last night. It's quite possible you could eat a five course meal from the floor now.

Apparently when I said, "Sleep like a baby" last night, I inadvertently offended my cat. The following conversation took place in my bedroom at 4:30 AM this morning.

Susan: Zzzzzzz...hhhurf!
Chet: Mrow! Mrow!
Susan: Mmmmrrrgh, c'mere. Pet. Happy. Sleep. Good.
Chet: Mrow! Mrow!
Susan (opening one eye): Uuugh. It's 4:30. You don't need to be fed at 4:30. Mmrrgh gettouta my face.

.....Silence. Interrupted by the *rrrrriiiip* sound of the cover of the book I'm currently reading....

Susan (slapping hand around bed to grab book and stick it under pillow, away from cat teeth): Mmmggh, damnit. Gimme that.
Chet: Mrowwwwww!
Susan: *sigh*
Chet: Mrow! Mrow! Mrrrrow mrow mrow!
Susan (flinging pillow off her head and sitting up): God DAMN it! It's 4:30 in the morning! You're not going to die if you don't eat in the next 2 hours!

.....thuds and bumps as Susan stumbles down the hall, muttering her way to the kitchen and trying not to trip and die in the dark...

Susan (staring bleary-eyed at cat): You. Had. Food. Already. You Little.... *sigh*
Chet (hopping up on counter to eat the food that was already in bowl): *crunch crunch crunch*

I'm pretty sure this is proof that I'm going to make a wonderful mother someday.

And here endeth day three of the torture, and I haven't cracked yet. Oh, I've wanted to. You don't think I've wanted to? I've wanted to break down and spill out my guts and admit to anything they wanted to hear if they'd please just let me have one little puff sure I did it, I'd do it again too, I did it twice with my hands behind my back, just please oh please let me smoke you know I love you baby, I really do, just give me one little puff and we'll pretend it never happened.

Ahem. As is obvious, quitting smoking is not affecting my imagination.

It is, however, making me utterly exhausted. And fortunately, since that first night, I've been able to sleep like a baby.

---------------

And a special thanks goes out to those who took a moment to remind me I can do this. Ya'll rock.

Still no cigarettes. And I'm not climbing the walls. Or the doors. Or the trees in the yard.

I am, however, sleepy - as it's well past my bedtime. And I'm happy as well. Sleepy and happy.

Always a good combination.

Last night, I dreamed of smoking. Of the cool, sweet smoke drifting across my tongue. Of long, slow exhales. Of smoking.

That is, when I wasn't tossing and turning at 3 AM. I broke down at 3:30 and wandered out to grab a Tylenol PM, which has left me half-awake this morning and bumbling around.

So, you know, apparently I'll be trading off my smoking habit for a sleeping pill habit.

Booyeah.

Great. Now I'm pissed off at myself and want a cigarette, and because of this stupid thing on my arm, I'd probably pass out or barf if I had one.

And thus goes day one.

Sitting on the desk in front me is a box. A box that cost me $48.99 four hours ago.

Inside that box are 14 little packets, each containing a strip of adhesive. Each little strip of adhesive contains 21mg of nicotine. Starting tomorrow morning after I step out of the shower at 8 AM, every morning, for the next 10 weeks, I'll peel one of those strips out of the cellophane safety wrapper and stick it to my shoulder. 1176 milligrams in 70 days. And after those 70 days, I will have hopefully kicked a habit that has been dancing around with me for 17 years.

17 years. 6205 days. Over half of the days I've spent walking around living, talking, and breathing. Longer than I've done just about anything in my life. Me and cigarettes? We've been a team.

Sure, we've had our ups and downs over the years. We didn't always agree on what our relationship should be. In the early days, it was Marlboro Lights. We were only getting together a few times a week - getting to know each other. We met up after school sometimes, out by the garage. We were about being cool then. Occasionally, I'd take a quick weekend spin with Menthols, or a Winston, but I just didn't get along as well with them.

Then came college, and Camel Special Lights. We knew right from the start - we clicked. Special Lights would wait for me in the early hours of the morning, after the bars closed. Or when the words of the book I was studying began to blur and blend together. We had a special thing going, and we started seeing each other more often. We were on a daily basis by then.

After college, I brought someone else into the relationship. Computer. No one knew quite how it would work at the start, but everyone hit it off. Marboro Lights were back by then, and they would cozy up next to Computer and just wait for me to want them. They knew I'd come for them, they knew I needed them, and they were happy to oblige. Into the wee hours of the morning we'd hang out together, laughing.

And then, in the last few years, things got rough. We were still together, but I wasn't sure where we stood. I didn't know if I wanted this relationship anymore. I wasn't happy. And along came Marlboro Ultra Lights. They whispered in my ear, they told me they'd take it easy, they wouldn't ask so much of me. And they did their best to make me happy. After all these years, they knew I had trouble ending relationships, and they played me like a violin. They were always around when I called. They were there when I was nervous about a new job. They were there when I daydreamed. They were there when I was writing. They didn't mind sharing me with other friends and lovers. They knew I'd come back when I was alone and needed them. In fact, they're still there. Sitting next to me as I type this. Five of them, with no idea that if I can find the will power, and with the help of a friendly box of NicoDerm, they'll be the last five to ever touch me.

They won't even know what's hit them. They probably haven't even noticed the $48.99 box sitting next to them.

There are certain feelings in life that people will do their best to avoid. Pain. Suffering. Grief. Anger. A myriad of emotions that are sometimes brought about through our own actions or inactions, and sometimes simply inflicted upon us through no fault of our own.

In my own personal list of top ten feelings to avoid, the top ranking is the stomach-churning knowledge that despite my best efforts to pull off a mental plugging of my ears and cry of "La-la-la I can't hear you", despite a determination to close my eyes and ignore what they see, I can't avoid thinking with a dreadful certainty, that I just royally fucked up.

I just don't learn life lessons well.

Hey! It's me! And I'm writing! Good lord, what is the world coming to? Cats and dogs living together.... panic!

The new job is crazy, sassy, funky - all the fun and excitement of a startup and all the frustration that follows. My "to-do" list is so large, I keep looking at it and freezing in horrified panic. I've gone from a large office complete with table and chairs to a desk with a six-inch partition and the knowledge that when the next hires arrive, I'm going to have to stop spreading my stuff across the desk next to mine. And damn if I don't absolutely love it. I keep looking up, looking around the room, seeing all of these friends who I believe in and trust, and grinning like an idiot before going back to my "to-do" list induced panic. Damn it feels good to be, well, really excited about where I work again. I really missed this feeling.

And to celebrate, I just booked myself a ticket to Denver to visit my girlfriends this summer. A weekend of drinking, madness, chatter, and fun in the Rockies. Yay!

All things considered - at the moment - life is pretty damn good.

Errr.

"I'd like a tattoo. Of my chair. This chair. Right here. I want it on my leg. I love my chair. Ahhhh."

Sometimes, the world is a very strange place. And sometimes, it's just flat out surprising.

And it probably says something about me that I'm surprised when it is.