Today my thinking is getting back to where it should be. I don't feel like such a space cadet. In fact, I felt awesome when I woke up this morning, despite not getting much sleep. My sleep pattern is seriously screwed. I wake up every hour or every two hours, and I sit there for what seems like an eternity before I realize that I am actually awake.

Still have the chills today, but the itching is gone. The irritability is gone. The anger is gone, I feel great. I haven't done much thinking about smoking, I really haven't had much for cravings either. I think today marks the downhill section of the race to quit.

I have noticed my appetite has increased quite a bit. I've loaded my desk with sunflower seeds, gum, and carrots to curb my desire to eat. I have to remind myself that getting over the nicotine addiction doesn't give me an excuse to start some sort of food addiction. Judging by the way I used to smoke if I don't get the eating under control I'll be the size of a small blimp within weeks!

I'm a little disappointed in myself today. My thoughts of smoking and about smoking are more frequent and compelling then they were yesterday. I feel like some sort of creepy, obsessed ex-lover, ducking down in my 1980's sports car as I watch Nicotine pass me by. I know nothing good will come of our relationship, and Nicotine will only hurt me in the end, but it feels so good when we're together.

Apparently, I need a restraining order and some fucking therapy.

I regret this being such a random event; I could have been smart and planned it out. I wish I would have chosen a Friday to quit. It's so hard to focus on little tasks and get things done at work. I've been staring at a static PC monitor for most of the day and I still can't collect enough thoughts to get my work done. Even an attempt to write a few sentences for this blog has taken me an extensive amount of time. It would have been a lot easier to start on a Friday and sleep off the side-effects over the weekend, bet staying asleep has been a real bitch. I have been waking up every hour or so, wide eyed for a brief moment or two before I catch a glimpse of the clock. I scolding myself for being wide awake and a complete fucking idiot at three in the morning.

The chills and itchiness are still with me today, the intensity has not subsided for either. Something new to complain about today though, the back of my legs are probably the worst with "pins and needles." I've consumed plenty of water, a decent amount of food, a few OTC pain relievers, but nothing is helping so far. I haven't felt anything spectacular as far as healing and recovery go, but then again it's only day two and most of time I'm not really giving a fuck.

The junkie hasn't come out of me yet today, but I'm expecting its return in full force. Yesterday was pretty rough as I began rationalizing my nic-fits with emotions that I've never even known about prior to quitting. I was jealous of other smokers that were ingesting all the nasty crap associated with smoking.

My fucking jaw hurts. I am tired of chewing gum. I stole Mango-Berry flavored gum off the kitchen counter this morning and I am sick of it's stale fucking flavor. Normally I enjoy chewing spearmint gum, but since I associate that flavor with occasionally lighting up a cigarette, I've decided to try something new. I have to remind myself every so often not to eat it, it's not fucking candy. I force myself to NOT swallow a new piece of fruity sensation that pounds the withdrawal of nicotine right into the unforgiving clench of my teeth as they chew with resentment.

My skin itches as if I've rolled myself in a pile of insulation just after a hot shower. My feet, hands, throat, back, face, ears, scalp, and places that I didn't even know could itch are screaming for fingernails to rip open my flesh.

Yesterday I wrote down my reasoning to quit using tobacco and I felt good about the decision I was making. After just 12 hours I have turned into a fucking junkie ready to pawn my own mother off to an all male prison for just one drag.

Lately the phone rings, I answer it and then immediately I realize I am now jammed in the middle of someone else's cell signal, because I don't have an Aunt Fern that floated away on a rickety boat the last time this happened, and I can't recognize anyones voice so I sit there with this baffled look on my head wondering "who the fuck is calling?" Meh.

To fix these communication errors caused by a flooding of cellular signals, additional wireless towers have been brought into Fargo. Apparently when your town is under the gun for destruction everyone and their damn dog feels the need to call and ask
"are you stayin' afloat?"
"is your head above water?"
or some other, equally asinine comment about flooding. Yeah, aren't their inane comments just fucking clever?

The people that ordinarily are too damn busy to call, write, or acknowledge that they once knew you are now calling at all hours of the day. They pick up the phone with eager little questions aimed on satisfying their gossip habits, and finally they sucker you into listening all about their lives. Your house could be burning to the ground while you float off in a bathtub as these fuckers tell you about how the economy is pinching their pockets and they are expecting their begonias to flower like crazy this year. Well, fuck you and your flowers!
Pricks. I hate these drama pirates. I would shut my phone off... but then my mother, who is concerned, wouldn't be able to get a hold of me. I would just not answer the unknown numbers... but then if it's that code red alert I'll end up floating off in the bathtub anyways.

Some random drunk woman from "around these parts" was unknowingly trying to sabotage our river protection. Click here to read the short article.
Could you imagine waking from a hang over only to learn that you single handedly flooded peoples homes, and destroyed their lives? Think of the restitution she'd have to pay?

In other news, my garbage cans are still full from lack of collection, and I haven't gotten any mail in over a week. The US postal service could possibly be afraid that small, vicious, ankle-biting dogs are floating around. That whole theory about no mail means no bills? Bullshit. Funds from my account are still draining as efficiently as ever, even though the banks here in town are closed. In fact, most of the businesses around here that are not "essential" are closed, but hey, at least the bars are open!!

I hate packing for trips. I hate trying to calculate how many fucking pairs of socks I'll need, and what if I accidentally spill orange juice on my underwear? Crap! I better pack 4 extra pairs of socks just in case the lotion bottle explodes in the plane.

I hate that it doesn't even matter how little I pack, because half of the shit will still be all nice and folded when I get back, and then I can bitch at my own stupid self for the back aches associated with lugging around 70 extra fucking pounds of my own shit -shit that I didn't need in the first place.

Daylight savings time.
Sweet mother of flame retardant biscuits, I am tired, and this isn't your usual yawn because I'm not quite awake yet and it's a Monday tired. This is an agonizing, my head is going to smack my keyboard if I don't find something to prop my head up, tired.
A few people are stupid enough to tell you that the time change doesn't really effect anyone and that's it's all in our heads. Is that why I was wide awake until 3 a.m. last night, because I was up agonizing over how unaffected I am with this time change?

Living in North Dakota.
We are having our 4th or 5th blizzard warning of the season. Driving on roads that have 1 inch of solid ice pack from the rain we recieved last night, and watching the snow begin to stick as cars careen into the ditch gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling inside. Even though last month it was too fucking cold to snow! When you can wake up and see a sun dog, or walk outside and see your breath crystalize before it falls to the sidewalk... you must be a complete idiot for living where you do. And yeah, I'm a complete idiot.


Mondays.
Mondays are a continual state of necrosis on my life. They just eat away at everything. I can't even look forward to the weekend without being reminded that a Monday immediately follows.

I'm planning a session, I'm a moody bitch today, and if you don't like my offensive fucking nature move on. For the rest of you, I'd like to bring up annoying individuals with big fucking mouths.

I went to two movies on Saturday. My first movie was rudely interrupted by some bitch on her cell phone... the second movie was interrupted by some pre-pubescent cunt on a field trip with her bimbette friends. I understand you have a life, I understand that some weeping bastard out there doesn't quite realize you're a pathetic, inconsiderate bitch that's ruining my fucking movie, and I also understand that you're completely unaware that I am on the verge of climbing over this butter stained chair to punch you in that huge flapping orifice 1 inch below your nose. SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH.

Today I was forced to interact with a coworker, one of those fucking imbeciles that doesn't stop. I could tell this kid I'd like to set his nuts on fire while I shoved his foot in a blender and he'd still try to be my friend. STOP IT, you fucking moron, I don't like you, I don't want to be your friend, I don't want anything from you other than stapling your damn face shut. He asks me how my life and the weather is, and I stare at him in disbelief for a moment, my blood beginning to curdle in my veins with a sick distaste, I wanted nothing more than to spear him with my ballpoint pen. I wanted to return with a question of my own... something like "How's being a blithering idiot working for you?" or "Can you tell this conversation is leading to a downward spiral of homicidal tendencies?" but I didn't.

So I would like to take a moment to vent my inner frustrations by saying to hell with you stupid assholes that can't keep your fucking mouth shut. It's called TACT, and if someone doesn't like you, think of the appropriate thing to do... SHUT THE FUCK UP. And for you cows that sit at the movies with your heard and do nothing but talk, giggle, and bitch... SHUT THE FUCK UP. I hate you fucking people. Go the fuck away.

I'm not a huge fashion follower, or lover for that matter. I know just as much about fashion as I do about fallopian tubes, which isn't a whole hell of a lot. I know that I like to wear clothing that is comfortable, and clothing that is sensible. This is probably why I'm still supervised while I shop.

I can't fathom the idea behind "skinny jeans." What the fuck is wrong with you people? Are you sadistic? Are you sadomasochistic? Do you enjoy slamming your nuts between a thigh and denim sandwich?

I don't get it. Why do these pants even have pockets? It's not like you can get your damn hands in there...

So I guess here's my "2 cents" on fashion and how remarkably fucking retarded I find these pants to be.

You appear to be wearing clown shoes, because the circulation through your ankles is being pinched between the pug like wrinkles of denim.

You appear to have 3 credit cards and a quarter in your pocket, your left front pocket, and no your pants are not made from a fucking see through material... I'm just psychic.

You appear to be a flaming mother fucking fruit roll-up that is irritating the living shit out of me, and it looks as though any moment the friction between your thighs will cause your pubes to ignite.

I hate you, because my dumb ass has to sit and figure out why you would wear these repugnant pants. These pants are a stiff relative to spandex and I hate that too... I don't like to see your leg jiggling while you walk. You're disgusting me, and the damned things are everywhere. On girls, on boys, on men, on ladies, and I can't figure out why. Your fucking pants are screaming at me. I don't like it. Take them off... like... right now, or go the fuck away.

Nothing is better then putting the car in "F" for fly and finding yourself two minutes later stuck behind some pompous prick in a Humvee driving 17 MPH in a 35 zone. Mr. Stock Broking Poser guy bought his H2 three days before the stock market folded over with a mouth full of American ass and a belly full of inflated gasoline prices. Now this douche bag is driving "conservatively" so his 130$ tank of gas will last longer than 8 blocks. His problem is now the worlds problem because there is a 15 car conga line weaving behind him, and yeah, not a one of us can pass because it's 8 in the morning and every transportation vehicle in the state is soaking up the other lane.

Not only is this monstrosity of a vehicle bigger than my own bedroom but it's causing a nasty streak of hyperactive slander. There's only so many times I can shake the living piss out of my steering wheel before I become so agitated I have no other option but smash my forehead into my horn, rev my engine, and pretend I have Tourettes. repeat. repeat. repeat. "BALLS!"

I fucking hate you. I would like to get there, sometime, TODAY. If Mr. Stock Broking Poser has not turned off by the time I reach my destination, I will hate everyone that drives anything bigger than a tennis shoe. People that drive Blazers, Suburbans, or Escalades... yeah, I'll hate you too, just because you're too fucking proud to be seen lugging your shit around in a mini-van.

Oh, and you ass wads that drive your RVs in the FAST lane... go swallow a handful of razor blades and go the fuck away.

I am sorry. I really am, and I'm almost positive I'll be struck dead by lightening shortly after posting this, but I can't stand it.

I cannot stand when I'm sitting across the room, isle, or table from some goofy ass slob that has emerged from puberty with only three good teeth. What the ...? Are you boycotting the dental industry? Get dentures... Go Poligrip!! or Go Home!!

My skin crawls. My eyes water in pain. And what the fuck have you been doing your whole life Snaggletooth? Chewing on coffee cups? Are those ceramic shards jutting out of your jaws?

Keep your mouth shut. If it looks like someone tried to decoupage a handful of rotted Chiclets in your face with a black permanent marker and a wad of previously chewed gum, I do not want you smiling at me. I don't give a rats ass how sweet you are or how rough your life has been, fix your face.

I'm not mean, I'm honest. I'm also shallow, so if you've got a mouth full of brown tipped, busted, or crooked teeth, I don't want to be friends. I don't care if you were playmate last December, if your mouth opens up and reveals a cavern full of overlapping whites, I'll take my happy ass home.

So, you out there with the hole in your smile...
You and your three teeth need to go the fuck away.

I've decided to devote a section of my blog and writing habits to the things that irritate me to no end. I read so many "rants" and I laugh, sometimes uncontrollably, because I know exactly what is going through their head. I nod my head in agreement with the writer, and I sometimes throw out an occasional "ha ha, ...oh fuck, that's funny", then I slap my leg. Whatever.

So... my very first installment will be the nature of bad breath and the inconsiderate assholes that keep it.

If I'm holding my hand over my nose and mouth while you talk to me, or if my face looks like I walked into a room filled knee deep in shit... chances are, you have nasty breath and I have the overwhelming urge to ram a toothbrush down your pungent throat.

If you are one of these unfortunate mother fuckers with a diseased scent I suggest you stay out of my bubble. I'm not afraid to use acrid slander. I'm a malevolent fuck and currently despising the fact that you're even breathing.

Buy gum. Buy a toothbrush. Fill your fucking head with sand and go play in traffic because I detest your ignorance and I want you to go the fuck away.