Does your chewing gum lose it's flavor?

On the bedpost over night?

My mother wants to have a family dinner tonite. It'll be a smashing good time, right? Sure. Well, dad'll be there. He's leaving for Maryland tomorrow. He loves his job.(truck driving)
Really-- he loves driving. It's in his blood or something.
He's making money doing what he loves. And you know-- if I remain persistant I can make money doing what I love as well.(writing)

But at the moment? I haven't done any writing for a couple days. Except for journal entrees. Otherwise I've been reading.
Clive Barker. The Great and Secret Show. That man is a crazy genius. It's an insane mixture of fantasy and horror. What's so crazy about it, is what you'll find in just about any other Clive Barker book you pick up-- the amount of imagination that goes into it. The 'worlds' or 'dimensions' he creates. I know, I know, he's considered commercial fiction. But that's part of the reason I'm reading it.
As a new writer, I have to be willing to accept the fact that a commercial fiction piece will sell much better/faster than an artistic literary piece. A sell out, you say? A whore you say? Well... If it means getting my foot in the door, so be it. Then, once they adore me and I've got them eating out of my hands, I'll blow them a way with a plotless artsy piece that has no point other than to show-off my ability to write witty dialogue.(Breakfast at Roland's, I'm looking in your direction)

No. I don't want a cigarette.

Three more days and I can have my much anticipated bubble bath. I've laid it down: I get to take a bubble bath after I've made it a week. And if I cave, that just means I have to start the 7 days all over again & I'm right back where I started.
It's like a mosquite bite. From time to time the itching becomes unbearable, but if I itch it, it'll only make it worse. And of course, when it came to mosquito bites, my mother'd always said: Ignore the itching. We were strictly forbidden to scratch a mosquito bite. If she saw us scratching around it, even, she'd go for the aloe.
HOWEVER---
Knowing what I know now about wild medicinals, I'd go looking for plantain for my bug bites.

ANYway.. I'm getting away from the heart of this issue: My addiction to cigarettes is like a mosquito bite. Only, I don't have any plantain. So I have to grin & bear it.
And when my desire for a cigarette is at its strongest, I find myself saying out loud: "No, I don't want a cigarette. I don't need it."
It reminds me Seinfeld: When George's father was shouting "SERENITY NOW!"

I've heard so many different bits of info about how many days before the worst of it's over. Kyle the Brainiac Boy Wonder says four days. I'm on the tail end of day 4 and I'd like to beg to differ. Although it would be nice to miraculously wake up tomorrow morning and not care at all about having a cigarette and be totally at peace. My mother says if it takes 21 days to create a habit(based on the old wives' tale) then it should take 21 days to get rid of it. This sounded a little too 'neat' to me... And as Jim pointed out: "Your mom's never smoked before, so how does she know?" I've also heard that it's the first month that's the worst. Ida know.

All I know is that today Jim was looking for eye-screws and I'm frantically looking all over... pulling drawers, scanning them desperately thinking "Oh God, I hope I find some. I wanna be smart, I wanna be good, I wanna be helpful.-- Wait! What the hell do eye-screws look like?" And being on the verge of tears because I couldn't find an eye-screw. Then I stopped. Took a deep breath. I don't want a cigarette. I'm fine. Sometimes I feel like I'm 'PMSing'. Wigging out over some little thing.... etc. And the inexplicable cravings. Wanting something to chew on.

Chewing gum has become an almost cliche device for people who're quitting. When I started this, it wasn't supposed to be an ordeal. It started with 100% confidence that all I needed to do is make up mind I could do it. Jim said the sound of my coughing concerned him. And well, I'll admit I don't care for the pain in my chest after a morning coughing fit.

The other motive came from a specific moment in time. ->
Jim and I were curled up on the sofabed, wrapped up in a bedroll.(sort of an xtra wide sleeping bag.) I was on the inside and the only way out was if Jim got out and let me out. I wanted a cigarette. The pack beside the bed was empty. Jim pointed to a new pack on the other side of the room that I couldn't get to without getting out of bed. As I said, he was on the outside, keeping me in bed. I made a motion towards the new pack and Jim simply rolled over towards me, put his arms around me, nestled his face into my neck and said: "Besides, you're quitting anyway."
Something in the gesture and how he said it. It struck me. His tone suggested that I didn't need cigarettes. It was like he had such faith in me-- that I could give them up and I'd be better for it. I replay the confidence and tenderness of that moment in my mind from time to time to remind myself why I'm doing this. And the optimist in me says when I've tackled the beast, I can help Jim do the same.

Soon I'll be smoke free!

And earn myself a bubble bath!

Yes, I'm in the process of quitting this nasty habit. I've told myself that I'd use bubble baths as a reward system. And other such things. I'm on Day 3. To be fair, I stole a couple puffs yesterday, but not an entire cigarette. Day 1 went off without a hitch-no cigarettes. Today also went without a hitch.
So our final score is: smokes 1, me 2
It can only get easier, right? Right.

I've got two novels going now. (the 6 Degrees of Slim Pickens, and Aztec) I feel more certain about Aztec's plot than I do 6 Degrees. But I'm piddling with both of them off & on... playing with the exposition. Plus, I've got another short story in the works. And amidst all these writing flurries, I've got two stories in the mail. I'm eagerly awaiting the checks for those two. I'm also wishing that major publishing houses like Random House or Harper Collins would accept unsolicited manuscripts. BUT-- Wish in one hand, shit in the other, right?

So I'm hooked on this writing game. Which is as it should be, since I want to make it my career. Anxiously waiting for the day that my writing makes enough money that I can quit Swiss Colony and spend my days making money doing what I love.

I've got to be me!

Mother called. Says there's a job opening down at the dog track. Sarah's bonded, I can be too. And that's all it takes to get a job down there. Don't I want it?

She called a 2nd time... talked to Sarah and pushed the dog track again.(I should, too.)

I've written 2 chapters now in my book. I've got some short story ideas laid out in front of me. And I've had an entire pot of coffee. Might soon want something to eat.

ANYway... the surviving thought here is about who has faith in me and what I should be doing. mum still believes writing to be a hobby. Jim believes it can be a career. There's a feeling that comes from this. When I talk about poverty w/ my mother. I want to tell her that Jim thinks I should focus on writing. But there's a little voice that warns me against speaking such foolishness to my mother. My mother knows what's right and proper. And I want desperately for her to acknowledge me as an adult. In order to receive this acknowledgement, I mustn't sound foolish to her. HOWEVER.... With the dog track business, I've made another decision about myself and separating myself from my mother. Jim's told me many times: "Don't try so hard to get your mother's approval because you won't get it." What I want more than anything is for my mom to recognize me as an adult. But this won't ever happen. So it would be better for me to make my own road and not worry about her opinion. Therefore, she can take her dog track idea and shove it up her ass.
I'm a writer. And I shall make a living as such.
Many writers have no job whatsoever. Back in the day, there were many writers whose only source of money for living came from publication.
I could make a tidy sum. Sure. Why not? But not if I don't get these stories finished and in the mail.
"Even if you only make like $100 on a story, that's 100 bucks you didn't have before."

It's a hard 'nuff life

hoo boy.

I find out yesterday I don't work today. I'm only working one day next weekend. My sister doesn't believe me when I tell her I'm poor. I went so far as to show her my bank statement. And she encouraged me to get the calculator. There. You see? And I can't get any groceries/goodies lest I sacrafice a bill.
I didn't call Noelle like I intended to, so I feel guilty there, too. This week has just been a mess. I've had a hard time focusing on anything. But I'm ready now. I made a promise to Jim that I'd get published. So I'm going to write this morning.
You know what I noticed?
When I talk about money being tight, mum tells me to go work at Lands' End or get a waitress job or something. When I talk about money being tight around Jim, he tells me:
"Get pounding on them keys, woman!" Which, the more I think about it, the more I realize what my problem is. Somehow, I got it in my head that writing's a hobby. It's nice if you got the time. But I wanted it to be a career. And it can't be if I keep putting it aside. What am I waiting for? Writing IS my 2nd job. I just haven't pulled a paycheck on it yet. And you can't do that until you finish a story and have the tits to put it in the mail. Yup.

I've been rice & beans poor before. I can do it again. It sucks-- But I can do it. It'll be educational. A lesson in humility and appreciation for things around me.

The telephone is ringing-- is that my mother on the phone?!

Haven't listened to the Police in a while.

But anyway.... The sentiment here is that my mother is coming this morning to clean my brother's house for him. The last time she was here to clean, she was going through mail and reading reciepts.(In order to better determine where these things should go, she says) She's got her sights on total rearrangement. She's convinced Mike will be delighted. I argued that he won't care until the moment he can't find something because mum's found a new and wonderful place to put it. She says I'm worrying about nothing. HOWEVER, she decided to take stuff out of the bottom shelf of my pantry/cupboard so that there's a nice, clever place for the cat and dog kibble, and 2 days later my sister's asking me where the cat food is.
Again, I think it boils down to my mother's refusal to "let us go". She still thinks she has to do things for us because she doesn't feel the way we're doing it is the "proper" way to do it. She's been watching a lot of "space rennovation" organizing-type shows, which has also put a huge bug in her ear. I suppose one could argue that this is helping her feel involved in our lives and we should humor her. BUT- Doesn't everyone at some point need to move on and become self-sufficient individuals? None of us asked her to come in and 'rennovate' the space in this house. She just figured we'd be eternally greatful to her for it and that Mike will be pleasantly surprised.

So ANYway... in the spirit of my new resolution to stop worrying...
Jim offered to come in early to pick me up. What I don't know is what time mother's going to show. I'll either already be gone, or just leaving when she shows up. (I doubt she'll call 1st. Probably just show up and let herself in.)-- she was miffed at me last week becuz I was less than enthused about her project and preferred to be with Jim. She's made snide comments since then about my "running off to be with Jim". She'll be miffed again today. Well so what? I know at one point I was thinking I best keep the waters calm between her and I because I wanted to learn how to make mittens and how to put a quilt together. But how badly do I need to know that? And who says I can't learn it on my own elsewhere? Besides, that's a pretty low reason to want to stay friendly. Maybe someday she and I should have the discussion she and her therapist never had. Or maybe the therapist has told her about the empty nest, cutting the cord and control issues. She just has a hard time listening. She figures she's justified in what she does. She pulls the "I guess I'm just guilty of loving you kids too much" card. Aye me dios!


So ANYway... I won't worry about it. I'm a woman now. There are no puppet strings. I'm not going to forfiet my plans just because mum might get upset. I won't play her passive-aggressive game. I'm me. I'm entitled to do what I want. I didn't ask her to come in here and clean things top to bottom, so I'm not obligated to be here.

"You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club."

Yass yass. Jack London said it best. He's right, you know.

I'm trying not to worry so much. Trying to write more. And I need to call Noelle. I found $5 in my pants doing laundry the other day, so I can afford coffee now. Hurrah! I mean, I know Noelle offered to buy me a cup last time we went-- which was sweet of her-- But... Well, call it pride, or mayhaps a sort of independence/humility. I have this fear of mooching. Oh I know- a cup of coffee is far from mooching...
My sister asked if I wanted to go see Elektra this Friday. But I have no money, I told her. Well, okay, I've got that fiver, but it's not enough to do both.(Coffee & the Movie) And in the spirit of honesty, I think it would be better spent at coffee with Noelle.

Coffee. Jim and I discussed our caffeine intake today. He thought his was quite high(1/2 to 2/3 a pot of coffee and 3-4 20 oz bottles of Mt. Dew) Myself, I drink possibly the same amount of pop, but I'll drink at the least 1 pot of coffee. And we make our coffee much differently. We both have 12-cup coffee pots. He puts one scoop of coffee grounds. I use three. When I told him this, he looked at me as though I was nuts.
"THREE?? My God, Woman!"
"I know. "
"I'll bet you're just bouncing off the walls."
"When I get about half way into the pot, I'm talking to myself and pacing 'round the room."
It's like crack, man! And I love it! I really don't know if mine's normal and his is weak or his is normal and mine's strong. I do know that on days when all I've had is his coffee, I'll get a headache.
Speaking of vices,
I'm going to quit smoking. It's that time of year where my body reminds me how much smoking fucks with my respitory system. I only had three cigarettes today. Good for me!

The Mean Reds

It's left me achey with a general feeling of insecurity. I don't know if I'm getting sick, but I feel as though I might be. Is there a sickness intuition? Probably. We're supposed to know our bodies, right? Like when I cough so much my chest hurts, or when my nose whistles when I try to breathe through it.

Despite this, I'm trying to get myself excited about writing all over again. I've gotten a page written in the novel. And thanks to my typewriter ribbon, I've written a whole 2 sentences in a new short story. Wowee! Haven't we done well?
I've got to finish the short story so I can have a bubble bath. It's my reward system I'm trying out. And if I get myself sold on quitting smoking, I can use the bubble bath as a reward there, as well.

So much I want to do to get myself in shape. In many ways. Changing my eating habits. I used to be a rabbit... All sorts of fresh veggies and maybe a smidge of meat when the craving's there. I also need to drink more water. Walk more. Do sit-ups again, if I really was before.
No more new clothes until I'm the size I want to be.

AND STOP WORRYING!!!

Such a cute little puppy!

Help me!

I worry too much. Plain and simple. I freaked out yesterday because Sarah didn't take Chico out while I was gone thereby causing the last puppy pad to get used. I think the whole reason I freaked was because I was afraid of Mike being pissed at me and/or evicting me. But he was exceptionally pleasant with me last night. This of course was after the nap I took following my blow-up at Sarah: "No, it'll be my fault if he pees on the carpet because he's my dog. Then I'll get evicted, and maybe then you'll be happy." And commenced to worry about whether or not I was welcome in that house.
As I said, it all stems from worrying too much and whether or not Chico will have an accident that will get me evicted. Maybe I'm making a mountain out of a mole-hill. I need to calm down....... . . . . . .
I think I'll have another cup of coffee.....

The Train Keeps a' rolling

"12 Months go by-- Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello! --Of their own accord. And then BEHOLD-- Another year Begins."

Gotta remember to put the right year on my checks now.
I got to see the new year in with my sister. We played old video games(Combat, Asteroids, Space Invaders, etc.) I went to bed at close to 2. I'm sure my brother has a nice, unpleasant hangover right about now. Along with 80% of the American population. I can't help but think of the Osbournes. Kelly's hungover and Sharon's describing a biscuit with butter.
"Kelly, wot you need is a nice hot biscuit with some buttah."
"Oh, mum, don't. I'm going to be sick."

Ah-hahaha...

Well, yesterday I was given an intro into bread baking. Today I'll try making a loaf myself. (see if I can't screw it up) If I can get it, then I could make rye bread, too. Oh yummers! And then of course, get Jim's Sourdough Bread Recipe. mmmhmmm.