Day 51 - Homely

I sometimes feel like my life is not my own. Like I inhabit it, but it's kind of unreal or intangible to me. Especially now. I remember feeling like this after moving away from Fargo after high school. I just up and left. When the plane touched down in the desert, I instantly started living a whole nother existence. The background scenes, the characters--completely different from before.

When I called up my old friends, I realized the movie was still playing for them. Even though I had left the theater. It's weird to snap your fingers. Change your life. And the beat goes on...

I guess it's the transition stage. The part where you feel groundless. I'm trying to get my bearings; I'm trying to decide who I am here. When I moved from Fargo to Phoenix, I became someone else. Someone better.

Truthfully though, I probably was that person for awhile, but my old circumstances and friends and decisions were on auto-repeat. Because of my geography I never pushed forward (not that it wasn't possible). That move gave me the power to become who I already was. Break free from the destructions and delusions of the younger me.

While older now, twelve years of a person more, I expect the same from this move. Growth. Different than what I needed at age 18, but growth all the same. This is a chance to jump into a more evolved version of the self. I want to embrace her. Say hello.

I want to be more. I want to give more too.

I want to take this clean slate and fill it with fulfilled dreams and loved ones and this place called home.

Day 50 - Buck UP

Ok ok I admit, I've left you goals. I've pushed you out of my mind. I think about you sometimes...as I choose not to write about you. You're boring, I think. Unimportant to my paragraphs. You hold the words back, weigh them down.

And then I see you in my sidebar. My 'progress report.' My point of all this. Unchanged. Un-updated. You linger on last week's ambiguities. I re-read my headlines. I think that I'm a fake.

I try to fake-muster enthusiasm. I think about all the people who I think are better than me. This is easy for successful people, right, sticking to goals? I'm overwhelmed. How do they stay motivated? How do I re-motivate myself? Am I bound to fail...

First step, I think, perhaps, maybe, is to re-evaluate my goals.

Second step, I think, perhaps, maybe, is to re-dedicate myself to them.

Third step, I think, perhaps, maybe, is to write it all here. Say it out loud.

Here goes...

1) Re-evaluate - Writing a book - missing big idea...brainstorm for GREAT book/screenplay idea for 15 minutes per day until find one I'm confident about. Day one starts tomorrow...
Art - one per week still seems attainable plus I LOVE it
Exercise - always missing the 5 per week mark, but pretty consistently hitting 3-4. Still want to push for it, but am reducing goal to 4x per week. Still progress considering I was pretty sporadic with exercise prior to project. Need to build confidence...
Volunteering - Touchdown with my preferred organization Planting Peace and received assignment yesterday, will update all later! Very excited...
Quitting smoking - one and a half months, hurray!!!!!
Eating healthy - need to break down into smaller attainable goals...new goals: no diet coke. 2 fruits and 2 veggies per day; starting Monday

2) Re-dedicate - I hereby rededicate myself to these goals, albeit revised. Hear ye. Hear ye.

3) Say it out loud. Check.

Wish me luck...

p.s. what do yall do to keep motivated? have you succeeded in some goal you've always wanted, and if so, how'd you do it? tips?

Day 49 - My Husband, My Hero

So, as you can see by yesterday's blog, I was a hot mess. In fact, as I finished silently tapping out the words, salty tears dissolved into my checks. I sat in the yellow light of the lamp and let them.

Right then, Dave walked into my emotional war zone. I tried to compose myself, only making matters worse. God love em', he gave no indication of worry at my mini-meltdown. He quietly read my blog from yesterday, typed a comment, and went to watch television.

Later that night, I read his comment. In it, he basically said just go Darc. I leaped from the couch, galloped into the other room where he was munching on celery, "Really?!" I said hopeful-like. And just like that, he said, "Of course."

My husband, my hero. My heart wells with gratitude.

And so within minutes, I combed Travelocity, Expedia, and CheapAir.com. We bought an overpriced ticket to the green humid plains of Fargo, my old heart my hometown, so I, the godmother of Nova, could watch her dipped in holy water in St. Andrews church. The small brick church where I watched my cousin marry, the church were I bid my grandpa good-bye.

It isn't practical, no. I'm seeing them in a mere month for our yearly family vacation with my dad and stepfamily. I'll be able to hold Nova for days.

It isn't practical, no. I can only go for one day. I fly away Saturday. I fly back on Sunday. As I need to save time off for the family vacation. The flight has transfers and it's ridiculously long.

It isn't practical, no. We are budgeting and chipping away at our debt. We save for X amount of trips per year. This plane ticket clips our savings.

BUT, it is completely and impractically right, oh yes.

I'll never remember that $300-plus we didn't save. I 'll never remember the long flight and the brevity of my stay.

But what I will remember, is that I was there. For Nova. Watching as God hugs her. And I, her doting godmother, does too.

Day 48 - The House of Sand and Fog

The sun, all-white, dives through the blinds. My black cat, like a blanket, burns against my side. I am feeling low today, almost down, as I pour shredded wheat and cut the apples. What slows me today?

The book by my bedside that I pick up and read non-linear-like, speaks to me, "In life, there are periods of high energy, and then periods of low energy. Go with the flow. Do not fight the flow." So today, I let the air drag me. I flip through etsy things. I ignore the dishes.

Last night Dave handed me a piece of mail. My sister's clean writing graced the front of the square envelope. I knew what it was immediately, and felt the lump forming in my throat. When I pulled the pink baptism invitation for my little niece Nova out of its white paper sleeve, the tears rolled down my cheeks. I ran my fingers over the lettering, detailing my godchild's baptism. Dave watched me with concern.

Defeated, I could barely breathe as I looked into my lap and said, "I wish we could BE there."

"I know," he said quietly.

This afternoon, painting fixed me a bit (just a little little bit). I felt sad enough to work the colors slowly. I brushed in the tree and washed out the bright pink flowers. Water fell out of the sun. I sense I've finished my emotional abstraction. Just a couple more blots and some varnish.

Doesn't everything looks better with a thick layer of gloss.

Day 47 - Close-Ups

I'm out of words today...so instead, here's some close-ups of everyday things in my house...

Day 46 - The 'Phoenicians"

This week zipped by. Dave in Vegas for work. I in Cali working. After the high of last weekend's trip to Phoenix, I felt light and happy. I missed my husband, but this potential dark hole beamed brightly, as I still glowed.

With him back on Thursday, we ceremonially prepared for our weekend guests--mopping floors and wiping mirrors, washing sheets and folding towels. These two Phoenicians, a smart and funny engaged couple, are two of our favorite newest friends.

I met them almost a year ago, in August, as the campaign in Arizona reached an early full sprint to November. Her and I both organized field offices for the democratic party. As a newbie, I was sent to her office to learn the ropes. I respected her immediately. Her large, light-filled office felt like good karma. Brightly-colored Obama posters and other local politican's posters covered the walls. She seemed organized and thoughtful.

During intense campaigns, friendships progress as if on speed. The days run upwards of 12 to 15 hours, and days off do not exist. Not until election day. While I eventually branched into running my own office, by November 4th the respect was mutual and a friendship was formed.

It's always such a joy to meet new friends. It often seems like at any given point in life, you've reached some kind of capacity. Like, 'oh I have five great friends, I guess that's it.' Never conceiving of more. But unfailingly, it always seems like every year or two, you meet someone new that you click with. A welcome surprise.

You shuffle around your life a bit. You make room for them. Cultivating a friendship takes time and patience. You start to tentatively water your new friendships with love.

Some of them never make it. They wither and die quietly, before bloom. Some burst open quickly--full of promise--only to faint just as quickly to the ground, like a sigh. Some, despite your best intentions and care, are unbloomable--you don't understand their needs or they don't understand yours. Some friendships you shouldn't be wasting your water on anyway...they suck up all your energy without ever providing beauty or peace.

But then there's those, that for some reason, all the conditions are right--season, light, and space. And when the flower starts to open, petal by petal, you squeal with delight. It's delicate arms stretched open to the sun.

You shuffle around your life a bit. You make room for them.

Needless to say, my friend and her fiance were an absolute blast. Both smart, interesting, driven, creative, easy-going, funny, and compassionate (well of course they get along so well with Dave and I ;-))! It's also obvious that they truly love and respect one another.

Anyhoo, the ultra-abridged version of the Fri-Sun weekend fun is as follows: talk and sleep, talk and eat, talk and beach.

Lastly, Three Random Quotes from the weekend without contextual explanation...
1. "While breeding children for the future success of the democratic party remains at the top of my list, we're having just two kids.
2. "No one would wear that shirt if they weren't a black Republican.
3. "Let's go watch babies read."

Day 44 - Noodles and Pork

My downstairs neighbor makes me crazy. Crazy I tell you.

When Dave and I moved to San Diego, our looking-for-a-place occurred over the course of two days on a short weekend just weeks before the wedding and the actual move. Not an ideal situation. For me. Because I'm crazy about everything. Light. Color. Sound. Room flow. Window view. Ceiling height. You name it.

But ultimately, decisions like these are made based on my intuition. I like to wait. I'll see 25 places, doesn't matter, until it "feels right."

But we didn't have time for this potentially lengthy process. We had two days. So we saw this place, liked it better than the rest, and signed a one-year lease.

So here we are.

Don't get me wrong, the apartment is absolutely gorgeous. It's big--with three rooms and nine foot ceilings. It boasts an automatic gas fireplace, Roman tub, a balcony, washer/dryer, and a garage. We are unquestionably blessed, more than likely spoiled.

But, and there is a but, my downstairs neighbor drives me crazy.

Apparently, unknown to us, we moved to an area in San Diego very well-known for its abundant Asian population. We slowly learned of our diverse surroundings over the course of our first few weeks. For example, a San Diegan asks where we live. We reply. They pause and remark "lots of Asians there." Or my uncle who candidly replied, "Oh, you live in Little Manila?"

As we perused the bookstore, attended yoga class, and drove past the seafood markets, we noticed that yes indeed, we were always the minority. But mostly it hit home when, at the nearby multi-plex movie theater, we noticed egg rolls advertised right next to buttered popcorn.
But whoopie, we don't care. If you're going to live as a minority among a people, why not asians? Lovely and quiet, in my neighborhood, they tend to their gardens and walk their floppy dogs like anyone else.

Yet...

Flashback to the first time we saw the place months ago...

We walk into an apartment with the leasing agent. Upon entering, I am hit with a thick and sour smell, like meat and spicy sauce bubbling for hours. And the origin is unmistakable. I say to the leasing agent half-jokingly, “It smells like Chinese food in here.” Instead of light-hearted laughter as I expected, she looks down and mumbles half-heartedly as if trying to be thoughtful, “Hmmm…we’ll have to air it out.” I wondered if I was offensive.

Next, we traverse the complex to our future apartment. Thinking the last apartment was a freak anomaly, I am surprised to be assaulted with a strikingly similar smell upon entering the apartment. This time I kept my mouth shut. However, I noticed the leasing agent breathing purposefully through her mouth, trying to keep a poker face.

And so, I can't say I wasn't warned. But I didn't have time for this. Like I said, the apartment = wonderful, so we signed. I figured it was due to the apartment being empty and unaired. The fact that both apartments were two acrid-smelling abodes? I chaulked it up to coincidence.

I sometimes wish I hadn't. Like in the mornings, around 8 a.m., she cooks some form of meat. Is it pork? It's sour and suffocating. It makes me gag. It's the first thing I smell. It smells thick and dead and so f#$%ing gross. I yell at the open window, "Turn on your fan!" I can't sleep. Why would anyone want foul pork in the a.m.? I think about this and get angry.

I get up. To counteract the smell, I open all the windows and turn on all the fans. I even bought a Costco-sized tub of cookie dough. When I first moved in, I baked a sheet of cookies a day just to fill the air with sweetness again. I gained five pounds.

My coworker, who brings in fried spring rolls for snack during break, says wistfully while chewing a juicy mouthful, "Oh the food smells bad, but it's deliccciouss." I want to punch him.

When she's cooking,, the dank bubbling smell consumes my entire apartment. I imagine it has seeped into every fibrous thread of the carpet. It creeps up the walls, sullies the paint. It cuddles into my furniture. Wraps itself around my bedsheets. Perfumes my hair. Offends the cats.

I try to picture what she's cooking down there and my imagination runs wild. I imagine her crouched over a thick black pot, tossing in various meats into some thick red sauce. She peels skin off the hoof of a pig. She deep-frys soggy vegetables for acidic soup. She serves chunks of mystery meat on a platter for breakfast. She doesn't open the windows as her sour dinner concoction boils all day.

And so, like I said, my downstairs neighbor is driving me crazy. Up the wall. So much that I want to move from this lush canyon valley. It's beauty tainted by noodles and pork.

(Disclaimer: Do not get me wrong. I love my food from the east as much as the next person. I just don't want to live as its kitchen vent fan.)

Day 43 - Will Blog for Comments

Seriously, where is everybody? All of the sudden the comment section is like a ghost town. I feel like a comedian telling their best jokes on stage while the only audience is the bartender who's busy washing dishes. I suppose I should be happy that atleast I have no hecklers.

And it shouldn't matter. I know. I'm not doing this for you right? I'll tap away at the keyboard irregardless of participation or lack thereof. But still, a little conversation never hurt anyone. I mean, in my last post, I just said reality t.v. was kinda sorta good for people. What?! You're going to let me get away with that, unscathed?

Dear friends and family, I know many of you are reading. You've told me. So I know you're out there, lurking in the windows. Introduce yourself, say something every once in awhile. Praise me, damn me, question me, agree with me. I can live off comments. You don't even have to tell me your name. In fact, Anonymous is one of my favorite people.

You do not have to sign up for ANYTHING if you comment. Just click on the "Comments" link below. Type in your words (include your name or don't or make up an alias). When you're done, where it says "choose your identity" just click "Anonymous".

I know this is begging. But I don't care.

Day 42 - The Reality of Reality T.V.

O.k. I know I'm going into dangerous territory here, but I'm just going to go ahead and say it...

I LIKE reality T.V. That's right.

That. just. happened.

I'm sick of it. Sick of apologizing. Sick of calling it a "guilty pleasure." There's no guilt involved. And THAT's the reality.

Phew...I feel so much better now. Confessions make me feel good. Now we can move on...

So, today, I'm kinda tired from my bi-monthly graveyard shift at the art & frame store last night. On days like today, reality T.V. is like a cup of tea.

When I first moved here, three short months ago, those first few weeks, I literally fell apart. I was utterly exhausted from the whirlwind of the last two months--we married, both turned 30, then moved across state lines. I was numb. It all happened so fast, the actual processing occurred as I stared up blankly at my empty beige walls, long after the moving truck staggered away from our new California apartment.

Dave dove headfirst into work. And I immediately got sick. Or as my body calls it: "self-preservation." During stressful times, I can go go go. But when it's all over, my body completely shuts down. Sit down you, it commands. And I obey.

During this time, I had a freshly unpackaged DVR and some chicken noodle soup Dave brought me. I sought out reality t.v. marathons, long enough to entertain me like a long movie for the better part of a day. It was "Keeping Up with the Kardashians," "The Real Housewives of New Jersey," "What Not to Wear," and more. As three days turned into five, my thick hibernation started to lose some of its lustre as I regained health and ambition.

I eventually peeled myself from the flat screen and even deleted upcoming recordings from my cluttered DVR list, but I have to say, that mindless watching was needed for renewal. And today, as my tired self summoned a three-episode run of Tori and Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood, I relished my away-from-my-life time.

People bag on reality t.v. And I get it. There's a lot of really really shitty T.V. out there. And many many people reading this would probably relish the chance to speak face-to-face with me, deconstructing the negative effects these trashy shows have on the ultimate downfall of society and our vulnerable children.

And there's truth to that. Surely when one views "Fear Factor" or "Bridezillas," you must question the ultimate destination of the human race. But these shows are meant to shock, awe, and exploit. Examples of reality t.v. at it's worst and most dehumanizing.

But, on the flip side, reality t.v. also has the power to inspire, interest, and illuminate common experience, which to me, is alluring. (Think of it as the difference between Jerry Springer and Oprah).

Most of the ones I dig are really about love and relationships. Take for example, Tori and Dean. Today, they struggled with time management--juggling their careers and two kids while still trying to find time for each other. I relate to this. Dave and I are both super busy right now, and we are constantly in search of time together. It made me appreciate this common experience. How another couple, albeit much richer and more stylish, approaches their normal couple issues in loving and mutually supportive ways. And find compromise and joy. How is that bad for you?

Or even the Kardashians. The show is about a very loving and tight-knit family, albeit much richer and more stylish, relate to one another and support each other. It reminds me of my own family.

Now of course, copious amount of reality t.v. replacing your actual participation in actual relationships poses a large problem. But as a means of entertainment and mild escapism (and fashion aspirations), I defend it wholeheartedly. So there.

Day 41 - Dare I Say...

I'm evolving. As a human. You heard me.

'How can I know for sure?' you ask. And I'll tell you...

One of my faults is my over-developed defense mechanisms. While a defense mechanism can be quite necessary, saving one from all sorts of emotional damage, mine is a touch overzealous.

In an effort to keep my confidence soaring high, unbridled by pesky insecurities, my defense mechanism will reject and/or completely shred the ego offender to bits.

You see, if I'm good at something, and by good, I mean totally awesome and better than most, my heart sings joyous praise of my new favorite hobby/game/sport.

However, if I am not good at something, and by not good, I mean mediocre, a total loser, or even just third place, then my defense mechanism completely and utterly disavows the entire activity. You're likely to hear a very sharp-tongued and witty and intelligent-sounding diatribe prolonged only in direct proportion to my failure or loss or fear.

Most people who know me grow weary of these lengthy analyzations as to why golf or chess or scuba diving (which I respectively have failed at, lossed at, and fear) are complete and utter wastes of time. Illogical at best and ridiculous at worst.

On the other hand, ping-pong and roller skating (both at which I excel) rise above the rest. I got me buckets full of good words for these useful and high-minded activities.

My point? Oh yes, that. So, as you all know, since this blog inception and my subsequent to-do list (see sidebar "progress report"), I've failed on several occasions. And by failed, I mean not done my goal list 100% totally awesome completely fail-safe.

Due to my very developed aforementioned defense mechanism combined with an equally developed i-can-justify-anything-if-i-want-to mechanism, I normally would quit. I mean geez, I have to protect myself.

Soooo, since I have neither quit nor abandoned nor succeeded to the standards I so desire, I consider this evolution. Aha!

p.s. I also did a Bollywood dance video today on exerciseTV. Critique: total thumbs up. bollywood is the best. perhaps the most evolved and beat-centric dancing of our century. and probably the most arm sculpting. Disclaimer: I also ROCKED at it, so you can't really trust me.

Day 40 - I Left My Art in San Diego

As I unscrewed the clean white tops of the new paint tubes today, I breathed a joyful sigh and smile. The fresh white canvas felt crisp and new out of the wrapper. As I filled a cup with water, I flipped through ideas in my head. After squeezing the thick paint onto the palette, I scooped the colors onto the brush and then pushed them into abstract shapes on the small 12 X 12 space.

What gives us joy is something to pay attention to. Didn't the master of the universe implant loves in our soul before we took up our human form? Isn't there a reason why I can't stand the sight of blood, therefore ruling out the medical profession? Or why I shy from unnecessary danger, ruling out skiing instruction or the army? I believe yes.

What action moves us and calms us at the same time? Watch for these. Make time for these. There's power in that. And transformation. It's different for each person. It's flying planes for one and taking photos for another. It's computers or buildings, music or numbers, gardening or teaching. Some may argue, 'i don't know what it is though.' But you do.

Day 39 - So Much To Say

Gosh...I sure ditched you for the weekend didn't I? Well you'll smile to know that today, full of guilt, I combed through and filled in the previously sparse weekend words/photos in the last few blogs below. Scroll down and scroll up for air.

I have so much to say here. How is it the words keep bubbling to the surface? Today is for conclusions though, and summations, which signifies the ends of things. The weekend, the lightness, the failures...

I failed in nearly every goal this week. I played a symphony of failure. The band, proud of itself, bowed and curtsied, and twirled off stage. I didn't possess the energy to tackle them to the ground. I watched them saunter past, whooping and hollering. I shoved my face in my hands.

I'm home now and it's Sunday and I had a helluva time. I ate fries with my niece. I didn't exercise in leiu of seeing precious little newborn Jack on Saturday. And I didn't write a page a day, because to be honest, my book really really blows and I'm giving myself one week to rethink it. One redo.

I know I know, but I can't care.

So here we are. Goals all blown up and scattered on the floor. Heart filled up with light and joy.

I have to admit, today I thought "oh it's too hard!"

And when I mouthed it out loud, Dave saved me.

He lovingly dragged me from my nachos to show me this this crazy workout video he ordered called "Insanity," which we then proceeded to run to, jump to, sweat to, laugh to--together.

We also finished our thank you cards today. The words pumped up my heart.

We cut up watermelon and pineapple and talked about next week's groceries.

I feel good. I feel renewed. I think I can do this.

(Dave's quote to lift my spirits: "Listen...No NBA team goes 82 and 0.")

Day 38 - White Out

Traversed desert to ocean today, AND encountered danger and adventure. Lots-of-miles-per-hour sandstorm with limited visibility pummels my little purple pick-up.

Everything running lovely...

Oh wait, what's that up ahead?

O look, it's the apocalypse...

Visibility blew (literally)...

Sand whipped across the road, carrying tumbling tumbleweeds, cardboard boxes, and even a bright blue innertube. The road disappears beneath the moving sand...

Crawled the highway at turtle pace. Pulled into Yuma where all the power was out...convenience store piled with stranded motorists. Rain starts to pound sandy drops down. People are chaotic...it's humid and fun and scary.

I collect-call Dave, thereby ruining my one-day-early-return surprise (it's our three-month anniversary today!), to let him know I was driving home. P.S. I'm not safe either.

He fails to reassure me that I won't die. I get back on the road anyway (sorry mom). I figured danger in the light was better than danger in the dark. It's me against the sun.

A few slow-crawling hours later, and I meet the end. It's a very distinct line between chaos and clarity...

Home safe--I watch air balloons bob in the distance near our apartment....

Day 37 - Wedding Bells

My friend's courthouse wedding = beautiful, touching, perfect.

Met in the bright afternoon heat at their downtown historic home, smart decored in cozy yellow and cool photos. Shaking off a slight tiredness from last night's festivities, we tie her hair up and fasten colorful necklaces, choosing the brown stone one with a shiny silver chain.

Marley and Sammy, summer-content but wishing they could be the witnesses...

They champagne toast before driving to the downtown courthouse...

the entrance is Resorvoir Dogs style... Then I got screamed at by a security guard, "No pictures!"

It's our lucky day...wedding number one! (lots of people waiting...my fave was the eight-month preggo ones...shotgun weddings rock ;-))

The judge was AWESOME! What a blessing. Seriously better than many officiants i've seen...and perfect for our newlyweds...

On to the small downtown gathering of twelve...we clink champagne and munch hummus and cheese until late night.

Ended up deep-discussing politics and world affairs until even later at the house of the bride and groom. Got home safe and sound.

Stay tuned for their big wedding bash in Jerome, AZ next year on their one-year anniversary! Congratulations you two.

Day 36 - Road Trip

I heart road trips. And for the first time in a long time, I'm driving alone--from ocean to desert. While the frantic morning zips by, the promise of grey road and blue sky beckons. In the car, the stereo sounds the steady voice of an audiobook gifted to me by my wonderful mother-in-law. As an audiobook first-timer, I'm pleasantly surprised by how quickly I am absolutely ensconced in the true story account of the humanitarian hero Greg Mortenson in the book "Three Cups of Tea."

I listen and choke back tears as the story of his fantastical struggles to build schools and medical centers in remote regions of Pakistan unfolds during the picturesque drive. It reminds me of my yet-to-be-tackled volunteering goal. My spirit renewed, I promise to follow through. One of the things I find the most heart-breaking and unnecessary in today's modern world, is the extreme poverty, hunger, and lack of medical help of our Third World countries.

As if by divine "coincidence", I turn on my lap top to check my email when I reach Phoenix, and a message awaits from one of my first and fave organizations to volunteer for, "Planting Peace," which provides medical treatments and education and sustainable solutions to some of the world's most impoverished regions. I am ecstatic to hear from them, as I sent several emails (as explained, the address was unmanned, oops) a few weeks ago. I hope to help soon.

So, in Phoenix, I immediately traveled to a nearby fave hip and arty wine bar to meet two of my best girl friends for pinot noir and bruschetta in celebration of B's last night as a single girl. Their pitch-perfect company, rift with our smart girl humor and airtight analyzations (of course we're right, guys), rendered me happy and blessed. This much-needed night wiped away my recent loneliness. Sigh of relief. Sigh of relief.

But sadly, and I'm just going to say this (I'm really just hoping no one's reading this far down): Like an animal out of a cage, my bliss led me--right before returning home in a half-drunk happy stupor--to smoke one half of one cigarette. Arg.

So there it is. I said it. Am I disappointed? yes. Crushed? yes. Self-mad? yes. Is there anything I can do to change it? no. Is there anything I can do to change the future? yes.

I contemplate some form of self-punishment, or implementation of road blocks to this result. No drinking? No celebration attendance? No vacations? Kidding, but kinda seriously, these are my i-want-to-smoke Achilles heels. I need suggestions/ideas...how to make-it-right and not slip again? Prevent unraveling?

Sigh. And then slap my own face.

Anyhoo...let's end with pictures from the long drive into the desert...