October 11, 2003
Procratinatrix I finally scheduled a date to take the GRE. Two weeks from today, I'll be at the test center determining my future. Whether or not I eventually become Dr. VanMoxie will be largely dependent on this one afternoon in front of a computer. It's safe to say that I'm not without apprehension about this. I'm setting up a schedule for myself to do prep work, studying the book I have and taking the practice tests. I did some of that during the summer, but since I've been working I've sort of let it go.
Likewise with my independent study this semester. I'm re-working a paper that I wrote last spring to submit as my writing sample for grad school applications, and I haven't written a word. There has been some half-assed reading of the necessary texts, but I just can't get myself to write anything down.
Quitting smoking is not conducive to working on these things. I do some of my best work while smoking, and my best smoking while working. Speaking of the smoking plan, we're down to 20 cigarettes a day and holding. Neither of us has been able to make the step down to 19. I proposed acupuncture or hypnotism, but Tim turned them both down. He doesn't like needles so much and hypnotism requires that you sincerely, emphatically want to quit. He is willing to quit, but he doesn't really want it, doesn't feel strongly about stopping. Like me, he enjoys smoking. He wants to be a smoker. Unlike me, he hasn't felt the ill effects of it yet. He doesn't cough up brown stuff in the morning, or get uncontrollable rib-cracking coughing fits in the middle of the night like I do. But he knows that we have to do it together or it won't work.
This is so much harder that it seemed to be in the beginning. The reduction in the number of cigarettes smoked per day combined with my nasty cold a few weeks back has produced a horrible cough. The other night, it woke up Jason and Patti, and they became concerned that I would choke. This is a nasty cough, sure. In fact my chest, stomach, and back are killing me as a result. It wears me out. I would love to just wake up in the morning and not feel like smoking anymore. To just cough up everything in my lungs at once and start new again. I'm so sick of making myself sick, and the stupidest part is this is all my fault. Yet I can rationally give all the reasons that I want to quit as I'm lighting a cigarette.
Out of all the love/hate relationships I've ever had, whether with people or substances, this is the worst.
Camille had a "situation" with one of the neighborhood outside cats through the window screen in the living room. As he attaches himself to the screen, and the confrontation intensifies, Hunter looks on. I just happened to have the camera handy:
At first, they just looked at each other and hissed.
Then Camille got sick of him, and bonked him on the head. He jumped down after that, and Camille acted like a badass for the rest of the day.
ann at girlmoxie dot com
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