Miles: Let me share the following with you. It's something I wrote in my group on my day 163 - close enough to your 177 to merit a connection, methinks.
The point of the following is twofold:
1. To show solidarity and familiarity...to show that I, too, was trounced with funk
2. To show that a funk doesn't matter at all. It can be beaten. I am on day 891 now. The funks STILL come. I beat them. You will, too, so long as you have balls.
"WHY does quitting need to be so fucking hard? Honest to God.
You bet your ass...waaaaaaaaaah. I am whining. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.
But I do not care. I don't care which of my quit brothers are THA MAN who have this shit beaten...snapped up by the scruff of the neck and slaughtered.
I want to have a dip right now. I want to be possessed and owned by tobacco. I want to spit Skoal juice all over my dick and balls, add some kerosene, and set my jock on fire. All to distract myself from the fact that I have been quit for 163 days and still want to gut spit for a half hour and then puke into my keyboard.
Fuck it/you/your mom/everything. I will whine whine whine. And if you judge me or make fun of me or say I am weak, your ancestors will burn in eternal hellfire.
Whining is better than caving. So lick my penis head.
I also kinda want to shit in my pants right now, just for the fuck of it."