Hey. It’s Friday.
Well, it’s Friday. I wish I had some awesomely interesting news to report, but I don’t. The only thing remotely interesting is that I bought a pack of cigarettes last night.
I quit smoking at the end of August. It was hard. I used that new drug on the market, Chantix, and that helped tremendously. 
I’m positive that taking Chantix is the only reason those around me are alive and intact. My husband quit, too. We’ve been doing fantastic, with the exception of a few cigs snuck on weekends when multiple beers were consumed, and we’ve been saving a ton of cash. All in all, it’s been such a good thing.
And then last night, I just went and bought a pack. I was feeling kind of down. So I just bought a pack. And I got carded. What’s with that?
Anyway. That moment of weakness is a perfect description of the entirety of me. Things get icky, I cave. I fold like an oragami crane. I crumble like a dried-up leaf. I stuff my face. I take a nap instead of exercising. I go shopping and blow my budget. I get loaded with my friends when I’m feeling stressed or upset. And I buy a pack of cigs.
So maybe it isn’t just that I like food. Or that I have a slow metabolism. I think all of this destructive behavior stems from one simple fact: I’m a pussy. I take the easy road. The road most traveled, so to speak. Anything to not exert any kind of real emotional response.
And what problems do I really even have? Good lord. I have a hubby who loves me, a home, great friends, the best parents, loads of expensive purposeless education, a decend job… I’m a lucky chick. There are frigging people out there who are homeless. Who are fighting in Iraq. Who are struggling with terminal disease. Who the hell am I, anyway?
I don’t have any answers. But I do think it’s time that I quit being such a pussy. I am taking my life for granted. It’s my obligation to make the most of what I’ve been given.
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