OK, I got to sound off with some hot sports opinions:
I'm at the office today. We've got a big thing happening next week, so I am up here grinding. Normally, my can would be right at my side (i.e., dip in the mouth) on a day like this . . . sparsely populated office on a weekend before big deal closing . . . a serious f**king trigger!!! Nothing I can do about it . . . work requires this, so no avoiding this trigger. As a result, however, it has caused me to sit and stew in with the cravings . . . and it got me to thinking:
If I ever doubted my hatred for the Nicotine Whore, there is no doubt now! I fucking hate her. I hate the way she is distracting me today. I hate the way she is taking a great Saturday before a major career milestone and turning it into something about HER! Fuck Nicotine. I'm staying quit . . . .
Funny thing when you finally grow a set of balls. In times past, I would have run off to 7-11 to take care of this. Not today. Instead, I am seeing this addiction for what it is: a terrible curse that I have brought upon myself. Makes me want to whip this bitch even more! Yes, I respect the Nicotine Whore -- we all must, right? -- but I want her relegated to where she belongs: the dark, back recesses of my subconscious . . .
Thanks for allowing me to throw this tantrum. Over the next 20, 50, 80, 100 days you should expect many more.
Turner's Revenge