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I’m saying goodbye to smoking, really and truly. As I write this, I haven’t had a cigarette in nearly 72 hours. I want one — oh, how I want one!

But I won’t do it. I’d have to go out and buy another pack, committing to another 20 cigarettes (because I’m not wasting that much cash on something I don’t consume!) And ultralights are so unsatisfying anyway. Apparently more satisfying than I had reckoned, though, given how much I want one just now.

I was down to about 3 cigarettes a day, mostly consumed in halves. I decided I just wouldn’t buy another pack. It was a tough weekend; my answer to quashing craving is smoking another substance entirely, which is working reasonably well. But it had been a fuzzy week already and I was trying to work over the weekend to catch up, and I’m not really moving very fast now either. Slow enough to worry myself.

No Parking
Falling Ice and Snow

I’m getting soft and lazy, I tell you. Plus showing pre-depressive symptoms, and therefore worrying incessantly about the October Slump. So, you know, multiple potential sources of distress and triggers.

Anyway, I meant to focus on the fact that I’m really and truly quitting smoking, even though I don’t exactly want to as much as I should. I can do it. I can. I know it, whether or not I feel up to it.

Write what you feel: terrified by the lurking sense of Armageddon and the constant gray skies and what happens every year at this time. Squeezed. Too slow, as though moving through Jell-O. For days, the clock has moved so slowly, but I can’t tell whether I’m moving slowly or quickly. Uneasy, always ducking the low, threatening clouds. Subdued, faded, worn down and out. Uncertain about everything, can’t quite care enough about anything. Worried.