My lungs like me better now.
Well, I'm quitting smoking. And doing all right.
I bought some nicotine patches and they're a lot easier than going cold turkey. They're like happy stickers for your arms, so everybody can tell that you fucked up and you're trying to erase yourself from the stigma.
I don't understand the phrase 'cold turkey'. What the hell. I love leftovers.
I'm not quitting because I want to, mind you. I *like* smoking. I like the way I feel with a cigarette in my hand. I like being the bitch with the Marlborough that you don't want to mess with. But some important people in my life don't like me being the Marlborough Bitch, so I'm quitting so they don't have to smell me anymore.
I do smell a lot better.
Anyway. It's 2012. I'm still around. In less than a month, it will be the three-year anniversary of the Day The Bad Thing Happened. If it's anything like last year, I'm going to be cowering in my room crying and blasting Chevelle and wishing I was dead. I hope it's better this year.
Fuck. Smoking always helped on the Bad Day days.
Anyway, that's my ass in a nutshell. Like usual, I have nothing interesting to say. My cat does, though.
Hang on,
Ness
