So, a lot of you dudes peeping at this will expect to be laughing uproariously.
You won't be. This shit isn't funny.
I mean, I've got a whole bunch of funny things on my mind to talk about, including:
- How Kathleen Turner looks like John Goodman
- Why paper streamers and seatbelts taste like shit
- Why the old dude at the Y insists on putting his underpants on last
And so on.
But for now, I've got to say that these last two days have been the hardest of all the last 100.
I think it might be because my wife and two boys left for Maine the other day.
You see, in the old days when I was dipping, this would have been Prime Grizzly Time.
No one around. I could leave my dip can out on the kitchen counter.
I could walk around the house with a fatty in.
I could make a monster sandwich with a side helping of awesomeness and then immediately throw a dip in afterward.
Fucking awesome.
So now I can't do that anymore and I'm a little pissed. I miss it.
And I was sitting here at my desk thinking about how good it would feel to stop at Cumby's on the way home, buy a tin, go home, and open that shit up...
And I decided it wouldn't feel good at all.
I decided that I'd been there before and I don't remember enjoying being weak.
I didn't enjoy crawling back here.
I
needed to stop. I didn't necessarily
want to stop.
And in the end, I'm
glad I stopped.
Tomorrow is my Day 100. It's my 2nd Day 100 but I own it.
I'm a former dipper.
I simply don't do it anymore.
As it turns out, I'm
not weak. I'm a stone killer so bring on the craves.
They won't last as long as I will.
Thanks, dudes.