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Quitting is hard.

But let's see if it sticks.

I've decided to quit smoking—I even got the patch and everything—but it's been difficult. Besides the usual "wanting a cigarette like all the time" stuff, today I'm feeling roughed up with irritability.

What I'm not sure of is whether it's just my usual (high) level of irritability mixed with stupid, frustrating circumstances or whether it really is withdrawal irritability crossed with my usual (high) irritability mixed with stupid, frustrating circumstances. I'm thinking (read: hoping) it's the latter. Cuz it's bad today.

I'm waiting in a library for Anthony; we're supposed to work on our writing—he, on his novel; I, on my short story—but my brain is too jazzed with the irritables to get anything done. Whence the decision to blog.

I can't say this has gotten me anywhere (I'm certainly no nearer, I feel, to writing-writing), but, um, yay?

In other news, I finally caved and bought a Nintendo Switch. I've also decided to skin the fuck out of it to make it pretty. I also got a bunch of accessories. And stuff!

I posted on Instagram a funny thing: The Amazon shipping deets had the option for 2-day shipping ... but according to the date of arrival, it very clearly wasn't arriving for 7 days. Oops. Apparently it's because of Hurricane Florence. How charming of her, denying me my Switch for an extra 5 days and all.

In other other news, Anthony talked me into sneaking up to NYC this weekend when I'm supposed to be working from home. I was reluctant until it was decided we'd go up Friday morning so I'd get in Friday afternoon and evening because otherwise I'd be working all weekend and only enjoying Saturday night or some such.

Not. Worth. It.

But it's okay now! And we're having dinner with my friend/ex Mani and his beau Friday night, which should be lovely.

But then, all the working. Ew. I'm trying to corral some New York friends into joining me on a break at Starbucks, but we'll see. That'd up the Worth It factor of the whole endeavor, although I'm sure we'll do other, perfectly interesting things when I'm not working...

Anyway, I do hope I quit smoking for good this time. At the very least, it's costing me a lot of money. I swear I've been smoking nearly a pack a day, and a over $7 a pack, that adds up. But further, I've been crazy into fitness lately, and smoking is definitely affecting all that. It's hard to cardio when you can't breathe as well as you could. But of course, there's also the whole cancer and COPD stuff to worry about. I guess that'd be bad news bears, too.

But it's tough. No surprise there. The patch is, I hope, helping, and there's the welbutrin I'm on. I have read it's really at it's worst in terms of cravings in the first 3 days, so hopefully things will get easier. At this point, I keep forgetting, somewhat, that I'm quitting; I'll just unwittingly be looking forward to a cigarette then realize it's never gonna happen.

But I want to quit. So I'm gonna quit. Or stay quit. Whichever.


Other things that might interest you...

This moment: A tattoo.

So I read Mrs. Dalloway in high school, and it was perhaps the most beautiful thing I'd ever read. One passage in particular, very early in the book, hit me hard with my first experience of the sublime, and stayed with me—and led at last to my first tattoo.
In people’s eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and the uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment of June.  (Emphasis added; full paragraph included below. From the full text of the novel as made available by the University of Adelaide.)

The paragraph this is from, the 4th paragraph of the novel, is the 1st passage with the stream of consciousness the book is famous for; although self-limited here, the flow is no less gorgeous. In the passage, Clarissa is walking on a street to get those famous flowers herse…

Losing Doolittle.

I recently got to spend a few days at the lake house my family used to visit through most of my childhood; we no longer own it, and it turns out I missed it more deeply than I realized.

Anthony and I both got the week before NYC Pride off this year, so I contrived to get us a little time there. The cousins who own Greenshore gave Anthony and me permission to relax there for several days rather than just the 1 or 2 I had expected. Good god, I'm grateful for that.

I missed this place. Standing on the balcony, the porch, or the dock and looking out over the lake, I was reminded of the beauty and tranquility this lake represents for me. The meaning and memories, too.

This was always a place of solace and stability for me. We moved around a lot when I was a kid, but we always came back to this place. It had been in our family for generations before I was even born—if we'd been able to keep it, it would have been a solid 4 generations including mine. This was where I figured out I w…

Sarracenia 'Palmerpink.'

So I posted the other day about my rekindled carnivorous plant obsession—I mean, hobby. I mentioned, in passing, that I had "discovered" a possible cultivar, so here's the lowdown on what that means and what I meant.

The term "cultivar" is short for "cultivated variety," and signifies that a particular plant is so desirable and interesting that people want exact copies of it rather than simply seed from it. Some famous American pitcher plant (Sarracenia) cultivars include the legendary Adrian Slack, the massive Leah Wilkerson, and the classic Judith Hindle.

Part of how these come about is that, unlike horses x donkeys = mules and certain other hybrids, Sarracenia hybrids aren't sterile and can be crossed and recrossed without limit. Further, random chance can create crazy combinations of genes such that even hybrids between the same species—heck, even the same parents—can demonstrate quite the variety. More on that elsewhere.

Depending on how easy…