So, it's no secret that I smoked/currently smoke on and off. I've quit several times, once for over a year. I need to quit again. For real this time. But here's the thing:
I feel like I transformed, when the girls were born, into a bottle maker, a poop removal system, a vomit vacuum and a housewife during any other free moment I may have. This is to be expected. And I don't hate that. But then I spend time with people I spent time with before I became the Babymatic 3000 and...I smoke. It tastes good. It makes me feel normal. As cool as Jordan Catalano. And then I come home and smoke and it tastes like that fermented liquid shit at the bottom of a garbage can left out in the sun in the middle of July for...let's say...three days. And it makes me feel like shit. And everyone looks at me sideways like I'm smoking crack. And I might as well be for all the good it's doing me.
I've never been so ambivalent about anything in my whole life. I want to quit. And I want to press on, like all the other smokers who have come before me. Even though I know what's waiting at the end of that road.
It's so stupid. I feel really stupid. And Mike just showed me his check without overtime, which is his regular check now that overtime has gone away until next fall, probably. And I feel extra stupid.
Anyway, I want to make a decal for my car that says "What Would Atticus Do?" Because, in life, that's really all that matters I think. My moral compass points Atticus. Or I try to keep it trained on him, anyhow. It's been a while since I've read Mockingbird and we're working through it, one chapter a night at the girls' bedtime, but so far he hasn't really given an official position on cigarettes. Hmmm...does the Ouija board work on fictional characters?
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