Damn Arnold. Just damn.

Going to be some changes around here. Not sure what. Not sure when. Not even sure why.

It’s just time for a change.

Starting to feel human again. Still don’t have the ability to talk above a whisper yet, but at least I can now answer the phone. What a pain in the ass this is.

Kids bounced off to their first full week of school this morning. I had laundry done by 9am, and the house cleaned an hour later. Roast is in the crockpot. Rolls for the week are rising. I worked on a photo site during the little ones’ naps, and now Barney has their attention for a bit before we head outside to enjoy the 70 degree weather.

Routines are good.

Also have a few GMail invites. Just email me via the link over there on the side.

If he tells me one more time that he has a yummy salty remedy that I can gargle with, I’m going to agree. And then bite him. Hard.

Met MB4’s new teacher Monday night, and she seemed wonderful. MB4’s lips were quivering as he introduced himself to her. Poor kid just doesn’t handle change well, and he had just gotten used to the camp teacher.

He’s been so calm lately. Spooky calm. Sit down and color and draw for hours calm. H-O-U-R-S. Wish my scanner worked with XP. His work is gorgeous. No rhyme or reason to it, but his latest creation is called Peanut Butter Slide – how can it not be beautiful with a name like that?

He handled the first day of school like a champ, and when I sent in a note informing the teacher that she might have a few ‘issues’ with him, and explained what might or might not be going on – she actually wrote me back. Go figure. Said to keep her informed, and she’ll let me know EVERY DAY how he does in class – and so far? He’s busting his ass, helping other kids, and I personally think he’s in love with Mrs K. She said that after two days with him, she can tell he struggles a bit with explanations and such – things that typical kids his age usually don’t have a problem comprehending, but she agreed that maybe his problem is something along the lines of dyslexia. She said that would explain his ‘different’ way of thinking – to an extent. Said she’ll work with him, send home help guides for us to help him with, and we’ll go from there until the evaluation. Talk about relief.

Telling ya, the right teacher makes all the difference in the world.

I’ve been sick off and on for weeks now. Have completely lost my voice as of this morning, and I haven’t had a throat this sore since I was 9 and gagging on that nasty spray shit.

I couldn’t have picked a better time to quit smoking.

Stopped to put air in my tire this morning. Not sure why my damn near brand new fucking tire needed air, but anyway…

I was headed out to enjoy my errands with only two kiddos tagging along. The tire was dirty, and I’ve been brain dead without my smokes the past 3 weeks, and didn’t bring the diaper bag – or the wipes. I wrapped up the hose, and eye-balled a fresh rain puddle courtesy of some bad ass storms the past few days. I knelt down, waved my dirty fingers in the rain water, rubbed the smudges clean, stood up, and dried the hand on my ass.

Only to find myself face to face with MrFarm&FeedStoreHunkOFuckingRama.

MF&FSHOFR: [Chuckle] You win the LowMaintenanceAward.
MM: [Laugh] Yeah, that’s me
MF&FSHOFR: Nothing wrong with that. Most men find primal extremely sexy.

Damn he’s lucky I’m married. I’d show him primal.

Coming up on 3 weeks now. Hard to believe. After a rough weekend, the past two days haven’t produced many thoughts or urges or cravings at all. MD is rarely wearing his patch, and I’m about to step down to 10mg.

Thanks again for all the support the past few weeks. I wouldn’t have made it this far on my own. Still not making any promises, it’s better for me to simply say I will not smoke today and not worry about the tomorrow’s – but I’m feeling pretty confident about this Quit.

Today is a blessed day. It’s the Friday of all Fridays without being Friday at all.

It’s the day before my children return to school.
It’s the end of summer vacation.
It’s the end of my 3 month prison-like sentence.
It’s the start of early bedtimes.
It’s the start of quiet evenings.
It’s time to resume regular nightly nookie.
It’s time to resume all the routines that I hold near and dear.

It’s also the day that my family calendar explodes.
It’s the end of sleeping in and staying up way too late.
It’s the end of relaxed dinner time hours.
It’s the start of juggling activities and practices and games.
It’s the start of broken hearts and nervous dances.
It’s time to resume the quest for the perfect 5 minute meal.
It’s time to resume the role of homework ass rider.

I’m ready. I’m so ready.

Friend of mine just announced that she is starting school next month. I should be happy for her, and I am, but I’ve also been pouting around since she told me.

I do not regret one second of my life. Not one. Those seconds have all led me here, to the place I am now, and I wouldn’t trade spots with anyone in the world. But I do want to go to school. Eventually. Just wish I could figure out what the fuck I want to be now that I’m grown up.

Our family is full of nurses. There is a standing trust fund just waiting to pave the way to nursing/medical school should any of us decide that route in life. The life of an OB nurse once called to me, but that quickly passed given my inability to remain upright in the presence of blood.

Of course, I love computers. What’s not to love? And although I like to think I know a little about them, there is so much more to learn. And what to learn? What area? Hardware? Networking? Software? Programming? Design? What do I enjoy? All of it? None of it? Does being driven crazy day in and day out by a bunch of fucking code sound like something I’d want for the rest of my life?

Do I accept defeat and return to the world of grease? I’m one helluva manager. I don’t claim to be great at many things, but I can run a store. I can run a crew. I can drive the numbers, keep down costs, and damn near guarantee fat ass bonus for everyone on board. I always have this option. I just fucking hate it.

When I was younger and my GPA was flawless and my tits were firm – I’d dream of dominating the white collar world. Had teachers pushing me into business over a knack for numbers. Pushing me into journalism after a brief love affair for writing. Pushed into law. Pushed into every direction except my own. But had I not been pushed, I might never have pushed back with a giant fuck you wave as I joined arms with my recruiter and left for basic training.

Things are different now. Those dreams of a corner office that fueled my educational fire way back when no longer appeal to me. I’d wither away and die in an office. I know that now. My motivation has changed. I’ve changed.

I’m almost to the point where I can head to school. Maybe now. Maybe a few years from now. Either way, with WeeOne officially being our last, there is an end in sight to my time left here at the house.

I’m ready to be pushed now.

Long ass day. Glad it’s over. Party went well. Almost caved on the quit. Still not on solid ground as far as that goes. Plan to go to bed now to avoid failure.

Pics in the gallery.

First batch of pics are up. I didn’t get many. Too busy running and hiding from the makeup monster.

It found me.

Yeah, she’s cute, but I see the need for homeschool in her future.

MM: MB3, let’s go – your turn to hop in the tub.

MG: ‘cuz you smell like ass

Weekend is packed with parties. Just us tonight, family party tomorrow, and my cousin’s little girlie is having her third birthday party at the park on Sunday. Should be enough tea sets, frilly pink, and Dora to last a lifetime.

But it won’t last. They just keep getting older and older.

Which of course means I will have to take about 32 million pictures for the Gallery to preserve the moment. You’ve been warned.

People who pay via echeck should be shot not expect to have their shit within a few days of payment. Hello. Idiot. eCheck must clear first. That cute little e in front doesn’t make a shit’s difference – it’s a check. Duh.

The boys start school in less than one week. Bets are open to see how long it takes for MG to drive me to smoke with where are the guys and the tantrums that will follow, thinking they’ve left her behind.

Registered MB2 for football. Kid weighs about 7 pounds, and will more than likely be snapped in half at the first practice – but he’s happy. No soccer for him this year though – his choice. I hope he knows what he’s doing.

Registered MB1, MB3, & MB4 for soccer last week. I hope MB4’s coach has a sense of humor. Or valium.

Rude ass kiddos just had to grow this year and ruin any chances of reusing their old sports shit. Going to hang a sign around my neck and plop my ass out on the corner. Will clean for cleats

Junior high open house is tonight. Told them they could wear their new clothes. I was instantly transported to Phattest.Mom.Ever, and tried to live up to my new title by devouring the entire bag of Nestle Caramel Treasures. Screwed tried, I succeeded.

I have new ice trays and underwear. Not much can piss me off today.

Two weeks, 4 minutes and 49 seconds

I love Myst. I love everything about it. There are no goblins trying to eat me. I have no demons to fight. It’s just me and the beauty that is Myst. I just adore it.

I’ve been waiting patiently for someone to buy me Exile. I’ve tried not to hint, so it wouldn’t spoil the joy. Sadly, I simply could not wait any longer. I flat out told MD’s ass yesterday that I had to have it. And since the first two aren’t here anymore, I told him I wanted the Trilogy. Then I told him to buy me the newest ones for Christmas. I need them all.

My beloved husband just got home and handed me the Trilogy. You may never see me again.

Unless I am forced to use fucking cheats again. In that case, give me three days.

After thinking and suffering and fighting with myself last night, I decided that this patch must not be working for me as well as the other brand. I had troubles at night before, but not like this. Since this new patch is only good for 16 hours, and it’s 6mg less to boot, I’ve decided to make damn sure I apply a new one every 16 hours until I get used to this lower level of nicotine. Too risky otherwise.

So I put on the patch last night, and got busy cleaning the laundry room. Then I sat straight up in bed at 5am, said my goodbyes to MD, and got busy doing laundry and the deep cleaning for today. Then I hopped in the tub, laid out the kids’ clothes, and scared all 6 of them into wake-y wake-y ville by hopping and light-flipping and hello-ing and cackling my evil ass off.

Got them all up, dressed, and fed with still an hour left to spare before the bus would normally be here. Although now I have 6 wide eyed bored ass kids looking for me to entertain their asses already this morning. We might not practice this shit tomorrow.

On Sunday, I got a visit from the dragon. She’s been dormant for a long time, thanks to close pregnancies and breastfeeding. She was here again yesterday. I knew that was a sign that my body is almost done with its transformation. It’s just about time for the shift of power. The hormones that have kept her sedated are leveling off, and she’ll get stronger and stronger from here on out. No more mister nice guy.

The dragon was rather pissed to find out we’d quit smoking. She hadn’t agreed to that. Not at all. Dragons smoke. That’s what they do. She tried to kill me Sunday. Almost succeeded too. But I didn’t cave.

I could feel her today as well. The persistent headache this week. The $20 I spent on chocolate this afternoon. The ass I chewed in the parking lot. The snarls I shot the bike riding morons that cut me off. The evil grins that followed soon after as I thought of ways to get even with them. The motherfucking period that decided to show up today after a blissful 16 month hiatus with my old pal mister cramps in tow.

Oh yes, I feel her. She’s alive and well and she wants a fucking cigarette.

Let’s see how long this lasts…
One week, six days, 31 minutes and 40 seconds

I wish my resolve would get stronger at night, cuz I don’t give two shits about quitting once the evening rolls around. I haven’t caved. I want to though.

My mom crashed and burned yesterday. And again today. I’m sure she will tomorrow as well. She doesn’t want to quit. Not really. She’s just now entertaining the thought of quitting for the first time in her life. It will take her many years and many failed quits to reach the point where she stands a chance of being successful. She has no personal motivation to quit. No real reason she gives a shit about. She lasted 20 minutes yesterday. Almost an hour today. I hope those patches I gave her have a long expiration date on them.

The patches I bought on ebay are different than the ones we were wearing. We were wearing 21mg, but these step 1s are only 15mg. So I guess I’ve stepped down a bit without really meaning to. MD has already gone to step 2 of the new patch – which is 10mg. He’s doing so well. Dammit. I know I know. I am too.

But I’d still smack your mama for a smoke.

Lynne has passed her one week mark of not smoking, and Tink is fast approaching hers.

I’d tell you to go give them some love, but I’m not sure it’s safe to go near them just yet.

Can really feel the difference between this week and last week. As far as urges go anyway. Not counting the times I think about a smoke, but it honestly doesn’t happen that often.

I’m not really noticing the other benefits coming out in great force – but MD is. Then again, he was getting pounded physically by the cigarettes – I wasn’t. Not yet anyway. Not that I could tell.

I will stay quit for him, because his health demands that he stop now. And I’ve grown far too fond of him to let some stupid ass smoke take him away.

Headache is finally going away. Thought it had plans to explode my grey matter, but I guess that is saved for another day.

The quit is going pretty well, all things considered. It’s pretty easy to brush aside the thought of having a smoke now. Unless I’m in that shitty mood. Then I just sit and dwell on it.

I won’t smoke today. That’s the only promise I’m making at this point. It’s the same one I make every day. Maybe it’s enough to see this through. Maybe not.

Still here. Still quit. Just trying to kill one helluva headache.

It’s my dear friend Nancy’s birthday today. She’s been taking a puter break for a few weeks now, and I miss her.

Happy Birthday hon! Break’s over – time to plug back in.

I’m supposed to get up at 6am and go walking with a friend.

Since it’s 3am, and I’m sitting here wide awake eating moon pies, I think we might have a problem.

Just woke up from another one of those dreams I’ll pretend didn’t happen. Was about a blogger this time – that’s a new one. And no, I ain’t saying who.

I think everyone should wear this patch – just once.
No one should get screwed out of dreams like this.

Pun intended.

If I were to replace the bathroom sink on my own without any prior experience, what’s the worst that could happen?

You’re right. I’ll save that for MD.

Think I’ll go organize the basement.

Again.

I thought I would have a few gmail invites to send out by now, but noooo – it seems I’m not going to get any. Hookers. If anyone happens to have one sitting around, it’d be saintly of you to send one over to Michelle. She’s been without a computer forfuckingever, and didn’t get one during all the hoopla handouts last month.

Much obliged.

Within 20 minutes:
Your blood pressure and pulse fall significantly.
Most of the nicotine is cleared from your body.
The temperature of your hands and feet increases to normal.

Within 8 hours
Levels of poisonous carbon monoxide in your blood drop to normal.
The oxygen level of your blood increases to normal.

Within 24 hours
Your chance of a heart attack decreases.

Within 48 hours
Your nerve endings start to regrow.
Your senses of smell and taste become stronger.
The level of clotting factors in your blood reduce to normal.

Within 72 hours
Your lung airways relax, making it easier to breathe.
The volume of air your lungs can hold increases.
Lung congestion, shortness of breath and coughing decrease.
You feel more energetic.

Within 1 week
The cilia in your lungs are starting to work again.
Accumulated phlegm from smoking will loosen and you will start to cough it up.
Your body is purged of all nicotine by-products.

Within 1 to ?3 months
Your circulation improves.
Erections become more rigid.
Walking becomes easier.
Lung function improves by up to a third.
Your immune system is starting to recover.

Within 1 year
Your risk of premature death from stroke is halved.
Your risk of premature death from heart attack is halved.

Within 5 years
Your risk of lung cancer decreases by half.
Your stroke risk is reduced to that of a nonsmoker.
The risk of premature wrinkling of the skin decreases.

Within 10 years
Your risk of lung cancer reduces to normal.
Precancerous cells in your lungs are replaced with normal cells.
Your risk of other cancers (e.g. mouth, throat, bladder) reduces to normal.

Screw the rest – c’mon 1 to 3 months

Yeah, Yeah, this is a man’s list – bite me. I was curious.

Sending all the positive mojo I can muster to the folks in Charley’s path. MD’s immediate family, our old friends, our old lives – all in Tampa.

Forget what MD said about the break room – tonight will be his biggest challenge. He’s a nervous wreck.

I’m still here. Plucking away at the minutes. Feel better this morning – as usual. These nights are a bitch though. The demon is one ugly mother, but as the night goes on, he looks better and better. Last night he was downright sexy. Tonight is Friday, so there will be other activities to occupy my time.

Like seeing if this increased oxygen and healthier blood flow really makes a sexual difference or not. I sure hope so.

One week, one day, 10 hours, 33 minutes and 49 seconds

Don’t worry, I haven’t caved. The stubborn bitch who refuses to reset that quit meter won’t allow anything to fuck it up.

But I do think I’ll go to bed early as insurance.

The demon sat quietly in the corner all day today. No fuss. No outbursts. Nothing. Till about an hour ago.

MD boasted about eating in the break room for the first time since he quit smoking. He is now the only non-smoker. It was one helluva challenge, and he kicked its ass. I was happy for him. Proud of him. Then he said he’s feeling more and more confident about saying he’ll never ever smoke another cigarette again.

The demon went fucking ballistic.

Never had it occurred to me (or the demon obviously), that this was forever. Oh yeah sure, I knew I wanted to quit smoking, but saying – out loud – I will never ever have another cigarette? Holy fuck. Was that a part of the deal?

Not one ever? Ever?? Never ever? Not even when I’m old and crusty and dying anyway? Not even when we go out and have a few drinks? Not even when the fear wears off from my aunt’s scare?

The demon stopped flipping out, stood up straight, and the ropes fell to the ground. He then walked over, sat down beside me, and calmly asked me what the fuck I was thinking by quitting.

MD silently watched all this take place. Then he leaned over, smiled, and told me he’d still love me no matter who wins this war. Told me no matter what, I had helped to give him the resolve to quit, and he won’t smoke ever again.

I asked him if it made him sad to say that. He said no. So I asked how come it made me feel that way, and he said that he never thought nicotine was the issue for me anyway – I just like to smoke.

If that’s true, will I always be sad? Will I always feel this ache way down deep where only a long tall drag will reach? Will I always feel like I’ve lost a friend? As sick as that sounds? Am I destined to never drink again? Never party again? Why didn’t my brain comprehend that this was forever? That quitting means quitting? Because it never thought I could actually do it?

I haven’t lost the battle, just not so sure I give a shit to win the war anymore.

Have spent yet another whole day upstairs in the toy room. Sorting through mountains of toys. Regrouping sets. Rebuilding train tracks. Packing stuffed animals for a ride to basement. Creating bags upon bags of toys for the good will.

Only to finally come downstairs and find the bottom half of the house utterly destroyed. Totally. Without a doubt. Completely fucking trashed. Going to sit here for a minute before I do something stupid, and it has nothing to do with a cigarette.

Might have something to do with prison though…

It’s 48 degrees. In August. In Missouri.

But damn, I love it.

Trying real hard not to wish the rest of summer away, but this weather is making it incredibly difficult.

High today was 70, and it’s 55 right now. Absolutely beautiful outside. Sitting here in my cozy jammies, and I left the window open to enjoy the crisp breeze.

Makes me want to head out to the orchard, and fill up the van with apples. Or pumpkins. I want to pull out my sweaters and fuzzy socks, and spend all day in the kitchen, filling the house with the sweet smell of homemade cinnamon applesauce.

The demon said she’d like to sit outside and have a fucking cigarette right about now, but we’re not listening to her tonight.

Because this —-> One week, 1 hour, 24 minutes and 50 seconds — feels pretty damn nice.

Scraping paint is not nearly as much fun as I thought it’d be.

Send a few positive thoughts over to Lynne and Tink, who have decided to kill their smoking demons too.

And Tink, you just holler if you need a place to bitch and scream for a bit. I’ll give you a key to MM, or set you up on Asylum.

New car battery. Bought the rest of MB1’s school clothes. (Fuck you mister Ecko) Paid for soccer registration. Finished up MG’s birthday list.

I’m broke, tired, and could use a …… paint scraper.

Six days, 18 hours, 46 minutes and 20 seconds

Today I am off to purchase supplies. I’m going to tackle this front porch alone and leave the back deck to mister I Will I Will.

I’m going to scrape off old paint. Attach some lattice to the end where the roses are starting to take over. Fix a few old boards. Give the whole porch a new paint make-over.

This should give me something to do when the urge hits me. If you see a fruit loop out scraping paint at 1am, just keep on driving. She’s not in her right mind, and might tear out your throat.

The demon is awake again. No bath this time, so now I know I’m just a weak nicotine whore who needs a bigger fix than this patch can deliver.

Do I scrap the whole patch shit and switch to the lozenges or something? Maybe try the inhaler? The gum? I don’t need all day nicotine – I never have. But when I DO need it, gawd dammit I need it NOW.

I’m not having trouble keeping my hands busy. I’m not having trouble with the hand habit shit. I am discovering that I don’t miss smoking at all. It was making me feel like shit. All I want now is the juice. Give me the juice. Give it to me now before I chew on your throat.

Hmm – I feel better now. Violence makes me feel better. Interesting.

Six days, 27 minutes and 13 seconds

Feeling strong again.

Ran some errands, got some fresh air, and stocked up on Pringles. However, I returned to find myself of out DrPepper. Time to kick that habit too?

I don’t fucking think so.

Wandered over to Quit*Net for a bit to try and snap out of this gotta have a smoke trance. Some guy had a personal question he wanted to ask the other guys. Of course, I had to poke my nose into the post.

Said he is experiencing some pleasant sexual happenings, and wanted to know if it was related to quitting. People are violently erupting out of the woodwork to agree, and the veteran quitters have assured him this was normal, and to wish him the endurance to stick with his quit.

Something about increased oxygen and healthier blood flow. Seems it gives renewed sexuality to both men and women.

I DO NOT smoke anymore. I DO NOT smoke anymore. I DO NOT smoke anymore.

Maybe it isn’t the patch. Shit, I don’t know. I feel that shit creeping back in this morning. Freddy’s trying to catch me sleeping, and it’s working. Guess I’m off to enlist the kiddos’ help.

50 trillion you don’t smoke anymore mom’s will either help me, or cause me to wig the fuck out and buy a pack. Either way, it’ll end this bullshit torture my mind is putting me through right now.

After I posted here last night, those internal tremors found me. The ones that try to jolt you into giving in. I ripped my patch off, popped two tylenol PMs, and laid in bed shaking until sleep found me.

I’m fine this morning. I really believe last night was a physical attack brought on by a glitchy patch. Not saying the patch is shitty, because obviously it’s not since I am fine 99% of the time. But I should stick to taking my bath right before I go to bed at night, and then toss the patch in the garbage afterward. No more of this staying up for a few more hours bullshit. Apparently, I can’t handle it.

Five days, 9 hours, 46 minutes and 34 seconds

This is it. This is where I fail. Something is wrong, I can feel it. Patch must not work after a bath. Says it does, but this is twice now that I’ve about crashed and burned, and both times after a bath. I am two seconds away from putting on shoes and heading the fuck down the road to the store.

I tried looking at my meter. Who gives a shit about a meter. I tried going to post a help messgae on quit*net. Their fucking site is down. Ain’t that a damn sign for me to have at it. I tried sleeping. Bah. I tried exercising. Yeah, that lasted long. Tried twizzlers. They didn’t light well.

I know something’s fucking up. I know it. Its trying to eat me alive inside. There’s usually no panic attack. There’s usually no trouble kicking the urge to the curb. This has been a 20 minute non-stop craving, and I am about to destroy a 5 day quit.

Do I toss this patch and put on a fresh one? FUCK

Damn throat feels like it’s swollen shut. Head is still pounding. Starting to cough.

I’ve got a troll tied up in the corner of my mind that tells me these things are happening as a result of my actions. I’m being punished for quitting. I stuck an I told you I don’t fucking smoke anymore gag in its mouth, but I can still feel the demon leering at me. Makes my skin crawl. I wonder if it will ever die. Will it waste away as the weeks and months and years pass? Or will it lie waiting forever, ready to pounce into control again if I ever take just one drag?

MD took his patch off before dinner again, and I’m being tormented by a mind demon. Yes, I think things are going pretty well.

Five days, 28 minutes and 51 seconds

Draggin ass today. Haven’t done much except run a few errands. Screw the extra tasks I was going to take on, I’ll be lucky to get the laundry done.

Can’t blame the patch though, as I think I’m getting sick. Throat is sore, head is pounding, and my voice is going. Don’t think I could smoke right now if I wanted to – which I don’t. Not really. Ok, maybe there will always be a part of me that wants to, but I don’t think about it nearly as often as I did the first two days.

Two oldest are off spending the night. Two middle kiddos are here playing a game. Two little ones are napping. Think I might pop some cold meds and join them for a snooze.

Four days, 16 hours, 16 minutes and 49 seconds

Bought patches on ebay today for MD, myself, and my mom (who has just set her quit date after 28 years as a smoker).

Bought enough for all of us to finish the 8 week program. For $57. Total. And that includes shipping.

Whoodeefuckinghooo!!

MD took his off before dinner tonight to see if he could finish up the evening and last until he could put one on in the morning. (He’s been putting them on at night before bed.) He didn’t have any trouble at all. What a shithead. I know I still need mine. I know I do. I can still feel the panic kick in from last night’s little episode. Fuck that. I’ll follow these intructions to the letter.

But anyhow. If you smoke and decide to give the patches a try – head to ebay first.

Oh, and uh – don’t look now, but I just hit my 4th full day:
Four days, 48 minutes and 47 seconds

Got one asking what I did differently this quit that makes it seem more successful than the other times. Or if it was just the patch.

No question that the patch is my hero. No question I would have failed again a few hundred more times on my own without it. Still not sure if I am going to make it this time, but the patch is worth every penny so far. By the way, I’ve heard to check ebay for coupons and shit, so I’ll do that today.

Besides the patch though? Not that simple to answer. It’s not like following a few steps and you can beat the addiction. Not for me anyway. Because it’s a mind game most of all. Every smoker I’ve ever met wants to quit. At the same time though – none of them do. There’s a give and take that goes on within ourselves over smoking, and in the end – majority wins.

We’ve finally reached the point where 51% of ourselves voted to stop smoking. Or maybe it’s 75% or 95%. Whatever. All I know, is that the part of me that wants to stop, is bigger and stronger now than the part that doesn’t. And that was true – HAS to be true – before you even consider quitting, using nicotine replacement therapy or not. First, you must battle your mind, then you can move on to the addictions – both physical and mental.

After we set our first quit date of last Monday, I went through and readjusted my budget. I took out all money for smokes. Not only did I like the way it looked to my bottom line, but I knew it would royally piss me off if I had to add them back in. Ultimately, I had to go back and add in the cost of the patch, but that’s an expense I can handle.

We chose not to throw out the lighters and shit, because we figured if we weren’t strong enough to walk by temptation, we wouldn’t survive anyway. That’s not to say we left smokes in the house, but that’s different. Cigarettes have only one function in life – lighters have several every day uses, and I would have had to go buy more later.

We emptied out the container we used for butts, and I planted flowers in it. When we failed Monday, we decided to go out in the backyard by the tree. Number one, the container on the porch was full of flowers, and two, it made smoking a pain the ass when you have to walk to BFE to do it.

I honestly think the cutting back we did from Monday to Wednesday really helped as well. From 30 to 3 or 4 was a pretty drastic cut, but not anything we couldn’t handle. We still felt fine, because we were still ‘allowing’ ourselves to smoke. There wasn’t that panic that sets in when you quit cold turkey, and your mind knows you can’t have one.

We were also kicking some of the mental habits early by doing that. I found myself stalling for that after dinner smoke, because it was such as fucking hassle to go have it. Same with the first and last smoke of the day, the after cleaning a room smoke, the phone call smoke, the kids are driving me fucking nuts smoke, the let me think smoke, on and on. We were finding other ways to cope with every day life, rather than depend on the cigarette to make it all better.

I figured I would need something to take my mind off of smoking for awhile, so I mapped out a few big jobs for the next couple of weeks. I spent the first day organizing the school clothes, which is needed this time of year anyway. That took all damn day. Then I cleaned the shit out of the closets and drawers and other little clutter spots in the house. I also plan on sanding and painting the porch, washing every wall in this house, cleaning the outside windows, and going for walks – lots and lots of walks.

Not sure if the first few days I was buzzing from the nicotine rush, if I simply had more energy from not smoking, or if I was just a nervous wreck waiting for an urge to hit me – either way, I was hell on wheels around here. Super charged. Whatever caused it – it helped me get through the minutes, and that’s all that really matters anyway.

Can I breathe better? Sure. I guess. As a smoker, I don’t usually take deep breaths. Now, I enjoy filling my lungs up with air, but I almost have to remind myself to do it. I do enjoy not feeling that tightening in my chest when I do.

Can you taste things better? Yes – when I eat. I’m not sure if it’s the patch or what, but I don’t have much of an appetite – starting to pick up though. I’m not munching everything in sight like I thought. Just the twizzlers. And my man bought me some peanuts yesterday to chow on. That’s about it as far as snacking though.

Does the world smell different? Not different – more …. real? More there. And it smells delicious. Probably because I can breathe deeply now without having my chest cavity implode.

Are you drinking lots of water to flush your system? Yes – It’s become my new craving. I thought I would start drinking more DrPepper, but I haven’t. If anything, that’s decreased. MD has noticed he’s drinking less coffee too. Not because we are avoiding it for fear of an urge, but because we would rather have water.

What am I doing with my hands? Twice as much as before because I’m not holding a smoke in one. Not being a tart. It’s the truth. On bad days, I’d spend a good deal of time on the porch, wasting away the minutes of the day on smoking. Now I don’t have that monkey to answer to. I bought the twizzlers because I thought I would need them in my hands. Guess they did help the first day. MD chowed the rest, and that was him just being a sloth, not to deal with a craving. But just staying busy has helped. I swear the thoughts of having a smoke are easily brushed away – MOST of them anyway. What have I had? Two rough spots? And the one last night was really the only one that threatened my quit. The other one just made me sad. Stupid, but truthful. I wanted a smoke and couldn’t have one. And it made me sad. Was easy to get over though once I looked at my budget.

The kids made us that chart. We have written down the hours of our life saved on the family planner. I joined QuitNet to get info and have a place to ask questions. I downloaded the SilkQuit meter for my taskbar that shows me my count so far. Whatever it takes.

Alrighty. Think that’s it. I’m tellin ya people – if I can do this? Anyone can.

Never in my life have I had dreams like this, and I’m not even wearing the patch at night. I can only imagine what MD’s dreams are like.

I was warned about vivid dreams or nightmares, but shit, this is not a side effect – this is a perk. It’s like the introduction of color in the Wizard*Oz.

I can always tell that I’m having a dream by the shitty production of it. Like someone used budget backgrounds and defective special effects. My dreams now are perfect in every way. It doesn’t register that I’m having a dream, because I don’t notice the usual tell tale signs.

There is no skipping around now. No bullshit fuzzing out of the boy toy’s face – or of anything. It’s all there – live in technicolor. I can feel the rain. I can smell the flowers. It’s absolutely amazing.

I can remember my dreams when I wake up. And not only can I remember them that day, but every day since. MD and I have been comparing them lately. I’ve only had to lie about one. I hope to have it again.

Although I’m guessing a nightmare of this quality might fucking kill a man.

Three days, 12 hours

Personally, I prefer 84 hours.

I should stick to 5040 minutes – ’cause my ass is still living minute to minute.

But I feel great this morning. Of course, my patch is fresh too.

Worked in the yard most of today. Then came in, got cleaned up, and went to a bonfire at MD’s friend’s house. Must have been two million smokers there, lighting up and blowing that sweet smelling shit in my face every time I turned around.

I was really starting to struggle. I became twitchy and verbally lethal. I started to sweat in the chilly night air, and I could feel the walls closing in – outside.

It was then that MD noticed I wasn’t wearing my patch. It was gone. My hero removed the one from his arm, and placed it on me. Then he took me for a walk around the gorgeous property, and I was fine.

I found my patch when we got home. Must have fallen off after my bath. Now whether I still would have freaked the fuck out with it on my arm or not, I don’t know. I do know I didn’t seem to be affected by the smoke the rest of the night. To say I wasn’t jealous in a way would be a lie, but it didn’t get to me like it did earlier.

Kinda makes me nervous though. I hit 72 hours a little bit ago, and I almost didn’t make it.

Just got a box in the mail. From a survey place. 2 packs of smokes.

What are the shittin’ odds of that?

And who’d of thunk that two cheapo 20 year smokers would pitch them in the fucking garbage and smile at each other?

Now if you’ll excuse me, we’re dancing around to shitty blasts from the past, and my daughter wants me to cut a rug with her.

Two days, 11 hours, 55 minutes and 21 seconds.

Off to light a fire under someone’s ass about finishing that deck.

I don’t know if you people realize how much this support is helping me. MD and I have tried to quit 3 other times this year alone, and have not told anyone about it. Why? You past and present smokers know why.

People say – yeah yeah. They say – how long will this time last? Or maybe a good – I give you a day. Better yet, there’s just that fucking eye roll.

Maybe it’s deservedly so. People have a right to get tired of people saying the same shit after awhile. But I still don’t think that’s decent friendship behavior. It sure didn’t strenghten my resolve when the first urge would hit. I’d think – they’re right, I can’t do this. And I’d fail.

But what bullshit. I’ve never rolled my fucking eyes at the moronic friends of mine that choose to reunite with their loser ass boyfriends. Have never said yeah yeah to a friend who is starting their 324th diet since I’ve known them as they sit across from me on at bench at Dairy Queen sucking down a brownie delight.

Haven’t told any IRL friends about this quit either. Fuck ‘em. I’ll tell them when I have hit a week or maybe a month. Or maybe I will just never tell them, and then explain my reason when they figure it out.

Ok, not fair to the closest groups of friends I have that won’t do any of the above. They’ll just softly smile, and lower their eyes. That way I can’t see the here we go again.

Then again, maybe I haven’t said anything because I am afraid they’re right. Every smoker dreams of the day they don’t have to quit. The day when it won’t kill you anymore. Speaking for myself only – I don’t really want to quit. I enjoy it way too damn much. I like my reward, my stress reliever, my OneTrueConstant. I don’t like that it’s expensive as hell, and causes harm to myself and others. Those are the reasons I will not smoke anymore. Not because I hate it – because I don’t, when I’m honest with myself.

To get back to my long-winded point – I want to thank everyone here who is supporting me and MoodyDad. It means more than you know. You are holding me accountable. Keeping me in check when a moment of weakness punches me in the gut. I thought of you all last night when the after dinner smoke’s ghost tapped me on the shoulder and started whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Simply put, I don’t want to puss out in front of my internet friends.

And I won’t. So thank you.

One day, 16 hours, 10 minutes and 13 seconds.

Few new pics in the August gallery.

Now I must try to run a few errands today. I suggest everyone in this area stay inside until I return. Suddenly I have been slapped with a very nasty shit of a cold bug, and I know I have sneezed over 200 times this morning. If a fit hits me while driving…

Think I’ll leave the kids at home, just hit the post office, and fuck the rest.

Damn. Learning quite a bit about this patch. Took it off before I went to bed, and yet I still was up bright and early at 4:30am. I got to spend the morning with my husband while he got ready for work. Now he’s gone and I’m just sitting here wishing I could go back to bed for awhile. Shit, I am not going to survive on 4 hours of sleep today. Maybe I will wait a bit to put my morning patch on.

Nah, fuck that. Maybe I’ll go find something to organize.

There will not be any more tests ran on my aunt. She’s had enough I guess. They still aren’t sure what exactly is going on with her, and would like to get her in for scans and all that kind of shit – but she said no. Said no one will ever number her days.

So I guess that’s that.

Hopefully, it’s just a mystery infection that is running wild in her body, causing her to lose a substantial amount of weight and is affecting her liver, lymph nodes, and possibly her brain, as she suddenly thinks RiverPeople are after her – even though she was perfectly normal on the 4th of July.

Let’s hope those two lumps she’s tried to ignore in her breasts the past year or so aren’t the ones spreading toxic love to those organs instead, as it appears on the preliminary reports.

I just don’t get it, I guess. I would want to know. Regardless. If I only had a few weeks or months left, tell me dammit. I got shit to do. Places to see. Letters to write. People to tell off once and for all. People to hug. I wouldn’t want to waste a single drop of the time I had left.

And what if it is something treatable? What if she is killing herself by sticking her head in the sand? You fight like hell until the doc hands you a morphine pump and tells you go home to be with your family.

I can understand not accepting treatment for a terminal illness when the treatment will suck every ounce of livable life out of you in the process, but to just walk away without even knowing what you’re up against?

Maybe these RiverPeople have gotten to her. Or maybe one of her sisters just needs to hogtie her ass and drag her to the hospital.

I’m going to rub my magic patch before this news fucks with my quit.

That’s what my nifty silk meter says right now. It sits in my taskbar and waves to me. I have to admit, I’m pretty damn excited about this. MD too – he mirrored what I’ve been saying all day. After dinner was a little rough, I’ll admit. Toughest moment so far. But, I went outside and took a nice long breath of fresh air and followed it with about 50 more. Whole time I was rubbing the shit outta that patch, willing it to juice me up. Something worked, as it soon passed and I was fine.

I’m starting to think we might actually make it this time.

I’m fine. I think.

I’ve organized every dresser and closet in the house. Made the kids go through the fall-is-almost-here-let’s-see-what-jeans-still-fit bullshit. Have three bags of clothes to drop off at the goodwill. That took all damn day.

Now I am starting laundry, because you find all kinds of goodies when you deep clean kids’ rooms. My house is overall a filthy sty, which is good, because I need more to do. This patch is like speed – is it supposed to be? I am go-go-go right now. I am juiced to the max. Besides, busy bodies don’t think about smokes – right?

Not hungry either. Maybe. I don’t feel hungry at all, but maybe I am just afraid to eat? I haven’t run from any triggers yet, but food is a biggie.

Anxious to see how MD did today. I hope as well I have. Will not be easy to do this if he doesn’t do it with me.

That looks lame, but it’s a start, eh?

Still feeling good. No brain itchies at all. Still can’t shake that feeling of cheating, but whateverthefuck works. Right? Right.

I cannot believe the amount of support coming out of the woodwork here. I appreciate each and every comment and email. And the phone numbers!! Wow!! I’ve been sent several phone numbers from people who said to call if I need to talk through an urge. Thank you so much. Better hope I’m not a fucking whack job with a hacksaw though. I’m not. I don’t think. Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.

And oh my gawd this morning. A wonderful gal I met through the comments here mentioned she would like to send my boys some clothes that her kiddo had outgrown. Holy shit. My boys about pissed themselves. These clothes are amazing. And name brand. Boy howdy. Just a helluva day here in hicksville. Thank you so very much Liney – and my boys said thank you times a million. They said I had fat friends, and I’m not so crusty yet to think they actually meant fat. So I guess that means you’re phat Liney. Mucho cool. But you need to send me either a paypal address or a snail mail addy so I can at least pay for shipping. That was quite an assload of postage you forked over.

I can’t believe how good I feel about this quit. I’m going to go tackle some dresser drawers upstairs, then treat myself to a twizzler. That’s my new smoke.

Next I’ll need help with a diet.

Dumb question here, but I’m curious.

Am I going to be able to feel the nicotine, or is it at the ‘body’ level only? That make sense? When I smoke, I can literally feel the shit hit my system. Will it be the same way with the patch? Or is it so gradual that I won’t be able to detect it, but my body won’t cause my brain to itch?

Not needing a smoke right now, and I’m not even sure the patch has had time to do its thing, but I was just curious. Someone said it took a few hours to hit your system, so I was wondering if I would feel it when it did.

Another question, since you are all being so wonderful and appear to be fountains of knowledge about this shit – my kiddos have made us a beautiful chart to keep track of how much money we’re saving. They want to put down what the actual cigarettes would cost, but I think they should back out the cost of the patches for now. Right? Still a crutch in my mind. I know they just want us to see the savings really jump the fuck up there week to week, but I think that’s cheating. Or am I just being an anal ass?

Well, hell, since you’re still here. That also leaves me in a quandry about my ‘quit’. I haven’t had a smoke since 10pm last night. Does that mean I am at 11 hours? Only 3 because I put the patch on at 6am? Or do I have no hours yet because I’m still cheating with the patch?

I think I analyze way too much.

Here’s goes nothing.

Patch is ready and waiting.

Gawd help me.

$358.00 = Total of the price tags I just pulled off these clothes for MB3.

I spent $128.00 on them.

eBay, will you marry me?

Busy day. Busy day.

Well baby check. Patch purchase. Grocery shopping. Packages to mail…

Get up early, after staying up way too late working on a new photoblog. Take a bath. Get purdied up. GirlChild wakes up, greets MotherFigure with kisses, asks for milk, then proceeds to chuke on freshly bathed mama.

[Chuke - the process of puking as described by my children who liken the initial stages of throwing up to coughing. Hence = chuking. ]

Lovely.

Get GirlChild cleaned up and resting comfy on couch. Place water at her disposal in the defective sippy cup whose sole basis for survival are moments like these due to the extremely slow rate of flow from the spout for those times you do not want your chuke-y child gulping down the fluids.

Head back upstairs for little expedited clean up [sometimes referred to as whore bath]. WeeOne wakes while washing, and is in no mood to hang on a second honey. MotherFigure has reached level 42 on the stress charts by now, as she is trying to go it alone. [Go It Alone - new phrase MotherFigure and FatherFigure have coined to refer to those moments they are not chemically altered with the demon known as nicotine.]

MotherFigure scoops up WeeOne, grabs his clothes for the day, and heads downstairs to change his diaper and dress him all nice and cute-sy for his well baby appointment. WeeOne makes it known that he is far too hungry for this silly game of dress up, and wants to nurse RightThisFuckingMinute.

So the process is halted, and the nursing begins. MotherFigure tries to keep the stress demon at bay while sitting there boobalyed. [Boobalyzed - refers to the paralyzing moments of breastfeeding a child no longer small enough to cart around attached to the boob, making it impossible to do anyfuckingthing but sit there and wait and wait and wait.] She tries not to think about the half dressed baby, or her leg – which still might bear a few traces of an earlier chuking accident that seemed like it took places days ago, but actually just occurred within the past 10 minutes. She sits, and she waits.

WeeOne finally breaks his death grip, looks up, and smiles at the MotherFigure – who suddenly thinks she can do absolutely anything as long as she can see that smile every day for the rest of her life.

Until that smile transforms in the tiniest split second and the unspeakable is hurled onto her chest, lap, and arms.

It takes a full two minutes before MotherFigure can move. She hears her mind snap, not once, but a few times. She gently carries SickieChild#2 up the stairs, and gives him a nice sponge bath. She gets out another cute-sy outfit, gets him dressed, and watches as he falls back asleep right in front of her eyes as she finishes up. She carries him downstairs, lays the sleeping WeeOne in his bouncy, and covers up both of her now-sleeping SickieChildren.

Then MotherFigure does not think. She does not allow one thought to cross her mental airways or she is certain she will surely FlipTheFuckOut. Instead, she wordlessly walks over, grabs a hold of her OneTrueConstant, and takes her chuke covered self outside for a smoke.

Let’s start this fucking day over, shall we?

All together now – Hi Angie.
C’mon, make me feel welcome before I tell my tale.

I had my first cigarette when I was 7 years old. Mom and dad went out, and the teenage babysitter invited her boyfriend over. They helped themselves to my parent’s booze, and went outside for a little fun on the swing set.

Ole Ang was not the kind of kid that would tolerate being put to bed at 7pm – just so Miss Thang could get her groove on with some hickass greaser. I marched outside and told her she had better enjoy herself, because my parents were going to have her ass when they got home. Told her I’d be waiting up as long as it took.

Miss SmartyPants didn’t bat an eye. Told me I wasn’t as cool as she thought. Told me she was disappointed we couldn’t hang out together like she thought.

She had me. I was such a dumbass. Hey, I was 7. It would be years until my inner moody would fully mature.

I wandered a little closer, but didn’t say a word. She then offered me a cigarette, and told me I was more than welcome to stay up as late as I wanted – outside, playing on my swingset and smoking with them.

I remember taking it. I remember when she lit it for me. I remember taking that first drag. Didn’t taste horrible like I’d been told. Didn’t make me cough. Didn’t make me choke. I sat on a swing, and thought I was the fucking cat’s meow. She handed me a pack, and her and JoeCool went inside to do gawd knows what – but I didn’t care. I had a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. I had arrived.

I didn’t tell that night. How could I? I didn’t tell, and my parents thought she was TheOne. The one they had spent years searching for. Straight A student. Pretty. Quiet. And their daughter seemed to bond with her. Good times ensued for many, many years after that. Five to be exact.

When I was 12, mom went back to work. Suddenly, we needed a sitter for before and after school. Guess whose mom offered to take us on?

So, we spent that year at Smoker Chic’s house. Her mother was worse than she was – if that was possible. When summer rolled around, we were there full time. It’d be 100 degrees, and that nasty whore would lock us outside all day long. I dug a huge hole under a bush out front so my little sister and another little gal could find relief from the sun, and I would take off to the park – where I was free to indulge in my favorite past time. Smoking.

I smoked all summer long. I finally had to rat out the sitter, as my sister and I could not take one more year of that torture. Mom found another job that worked around our school schedule, and I found a new hiding spot around our neighborhood to smoke. Since I no longer had access to my dealer – I stole mom’s.

By the time I was 15, I was a smoker. Don’t remember crossing over that inhalation line, but I remember the need growing. I had somehow switched lanes, and found myself needing to buy smokes for the first time, because I couldn’t steal enough from mom to make the brain itchies stop.

I managed to hide it pretty well from my folks for the next 3 years. Or so I thought. Maybe they just said nothing because I was the straight A student who never got into trouble. Or maybe the pot couldn’t start a color war with the kettle. Whichever. They said nothing. I said nothing.

Till one day mom was driving me back to the airport. I was home on Christmas Exodus from basic training, and had foolishly made up for lost time with my beloved smokes when I should have kicked their ass to the curb forever. I was starting to get the fever on the hour long ride, and was mapping out a game plan to slip away at the airport to grab a quick smoke – my last smoke – until after basic was over. I felt myself start to sweat, when mom broke into my internal panic attack and said I had better smoke up while I still had the chance. I reached over, dug out my pack, and neither of us said another word about it.

Cigarettes somehow became the one true constant in my life, as I’m sure they did for many people. Always there. Always comforting. The fact that this friend is slowly trying to kill you doesn’t seem to matter, because truth be told – what the fuck isn’t?

I was never ready to quit before. Not really. There was always some underlying fear of letting go. Wasn’t sure if I could face the ups and especially the downs, without them. I’m still not sure. But I want to. I hope I can. I’m going to try like hell on Thursday to say goodbye once and for all.

It’s not the nicotine I’ll miss. Yeah, my body sure as hell will, but the patch will make nice-y nice with the brain itchies. It’s the companionship. And I’m only now starting to realize how very fucked up that is.

I’m a big failure. Bite me. I’ve had three smokes today. I may or may not have a smoke tomorrow. Or Wednesday. But MD and I have officially set Thursday as our Quit Day. And we will be using the patch. We both smoke a little over a pack a day, but the doc seems to agree that we should be ok starting out on a low dose – just enough to keep the brain itchies away while we work to eliminate the actual cigarettes from our lives. MD is to keep his on 24 hours, and I am to take mine off at bedtime.

I think this will work. I never thought I could survive on a mere three smokes, and yet I did just fine. So did MD. Tasted like ass, but it was just enough to hit the spot. I found that I didn’t miss the hand habit like I thought I would. I kept busy. I ate crackers all day. I downed the water, and drank my oj to keep my energy level up.

So, in the end, I guess I failed. From 30 to 3. Maybe I can’t get lower than that on my own, but I think I can with the patch. I’m a little pissed that I am weaker than I thought, but I honestly think by Thursday, I can develop a better game plan. Map out ahead of time what I will do with my time, my hands, and those typical have a smoke moments that rudely smacked me in the face today.

Think I’ll head to bed now, and for the first time ever – I will not be having a before-bed cigarette. Don’t really give a shit to have one either.

Results came in from my aunt’s test, and they immediately ran more tests based on those findings.

So we still wait and wonder. Doc still isn’t talking. He wants to know for sure. My nurse aunt said it would appear they are concerned with her liver based on the results that came back. When mom asked if the figures were bad, my aunt said that people with those numbers were taken off the donor list. Not what anyone wanted to hear.

I’m still hoping that maybe it’s something else. That doesn’t seem to be likely at this point, but I can hope. I’ll be running out to get the patch here real shortly. I just can’t do this right now without it.

Have there been any studies done about a connection between quitting smoking and the onset of schizophrenia?

I’ve just spent the past twenty minutes in an argument with myself. I don’t think that’s healthy.

Have done well all morning. Till now. Right now I need to just sit here and type some bullshit so I can work through this big ass nasty craving that is whispering sweet nothings in my ear. I know this only lasts a little bit, so I am trying to ignore it. I don’t smoke anymore. I don’t smoke anymore, so fuck you.

Little better. And a question. Answer honestly please. Are aids just a fucking excuse invented by smokers to score a fix and should be avoided by people who seriously want to stop smoking? Or are they lame ass crutches invented by non-smokers that do not provide the same internal satisfaction or have the power to scratch your brain like smokes do and people who seriously want to stop smoking should not waste their money? Or, should I run right out and get a pack of gum to kill the urges? Or is that a cop out? Am I just rationalizing the first step to failure? Am I making any fucking sense at all? Why do my legs feel fuzzy? Did I used to shake this much? Good lawd, I’m tired as hell.

I’ve got to find something to chew on.

This is really really going to suck ass.

I have to go to bed now, because my brain is getting itchy.

Hasn’t even been two full hours yet, and I would smack your mama for a drag.

My infant son has his first toofus.
My teenage boys now have internet access.
My daughter has developed an incredible ‘tude the past few days.
We still have no word about my aunt.

I am about to go outside and smoke my last cigarette ever.
I sure picked one dumbass time in my life to stop smoking.

I need some help or I will fail again. I’m asking for help. Kick my ass. Tie me up. Send boxes of rolos and chew toys to keep me busy. I refuse to pave the fucking way for cancer to come get me.

Ok, let me go do this and say goodbye.

Sorry Meg, but I doubt I make you laugh tonight.

My mom’s youngest sister has been having a lot of problems lately. First set of results came in today. The doctor won’t say much until the rest of them come back in the next few days. Unfortunately, the results were given to my other aunt – a nurse. Her silence said it all.

And then my mom had my godmother read them as well. Another nurse. Her head shook back and forth very slowly, as if she was trying to erase the results with her mind.

No one even needs to say it anymore. We all know the look. We all know that look. Look of sadness and shock and total fucking confusion over why cancer seems hell bent on wiping out our entire family.

End stages. That’s their best guess. No – hey, we can beat this. No – let’s talk about treatment. No passing go to collect your $200. She’s 47 fucking years old, and her only option is to die, as she would never give up life’s quality for a chance to prolong life’s quantity through treatments. None of us would. We’ve all witnessed that path. No thanks.

She has made it perfectly clear over and over that she does not want to know, which is why her results were given to her sisters. She will never hear those words, or see the shaking heads, or suffer through that gut-wrenching silence as someone tries to figure out how to tell her. I’m sure she might figure it out on her own, but she’ll never hear the awful term end stages. Never. She’ll never know just how bad it is. Her sisters will see to that.

I’m hoping for a miracle here. I’m hoping that the final results will point to a treatable illness, and we can all breathe a sigh of relief and giggle over how very sick to our stomachs we feel right now. I’m hoping mister cancer doesn’t have a score card to fill or a score to settle with what’s left of our family.

I’m hoping we can do this again if the results Monday sing the same tune. I’m hoping my mother doesn’t lose her fucking mind if she loses another sister – her baby sister. I’m hoping there is a God right about now.