i can has weight gain?

. . . oh FINE, I will attempt to be thrilled with making my one year anniversary. And I am very impressed with myself, for sure, albeit not so much H-A-P-P-Y. But Festivus is past, so I shall shelve my List of Grievances for the time being. Perhaps it will just take me longer than one year to get past all of the by-products of quitting smoking.

Granted, I have to admit to an addicted soul. No restraint, no fear, little remorse. Part of my aversion to trying gambling is the possibility of addiction . . . and because I am no sucka. Suckas.

I suppose I celebrated the only way I really could, though it wasn't much different than what I usually do, which is to do what I want, when I want, how I want. I didn't plant my face in a cake, though I dreamt of it. Repeatedly. I also dreamt of smoking, and that was pretty fine, too, I have to admit. Most of my smoking dreams involve me lighting up and having a few drags before remembering that I am not supposed to, freaking out, and feeling serious remorse. This time, however, I sought them out and lit one up with spiteful relish. I don't know who I think I am defying here, except myself, that smartmouthed, know-it-all hooker who should shut up, okay, for once.

Sigh.

I will mark the date in another year's time. Maybe then I'll be truly and really cured. Until then, I still ain't smoking, no cheating, neither, so kiss my toe ring.