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not counting my chickens
February 23, 2011
This winter is a battle to the death. And it may be nearly March, but I shall not count the battle as won quite yet. The weather shows no signs of letting up, that's for sure. Monday's commute was 30-mile skating rink, Tuesday's was a 30-mile slog through a spilled Slurpee. I actually revelled in the ease of the commute this morning. Funny how much a dry pavement can mean, if you haven't had one in a while.
But then the weather guy announced that a storm system that was supposed to miss us later in the week, has actually spawned a splinter cell that will detour down and nail my ass to the wall, Sunday into Monday.
It is ALWAYS "Sunday into Monday", you know. Got to get that week off to a hellish start.
Talked to my mom a little bit last night. They are enjoying themselves in Phoenix, and Mom wanted to know how it went on Sunday. Didn't talk long, as Dad was in the background bitching about the fact that I was burning up Mom's cell minutes.
He and I have been going around and around for the better part of a decade about my cell carrier. He thinks all his kids should use HIS carrier, so all his calls are free. Which is fine the 'rents, and for my brothers in Iowa--Verizon is the only decent service where they live, anyway. However, it happens to SUCK where I live, and I refuse to have sucky service for 99% of my phone use, just because he's a cheap-ass, or because I make maybe one or two calls a year in the Rock or Mississippi River Valleys.
Anyway, Spouse also had one of his heart-to-heart calls with my Aunt in Phoenix, and she said my mom really got her eyes opened to the shape her brother is in. Mom has been in serious denial about the state of Uncle's mind and body, and really needed a good clue about how things are these days. It is easy to be dismissive from 1800 miles away, but when you see it face to face-- different story.
Make no mistake--once she is home, the expanded consciousness will soon shrink back to size. NO ONE beats my mom when it comes to her carefully construction of a personal reality. But it is still a good thing for her to have to acknowledge, even temporarily, the facts of the situation.
Working out a sort of journal-slash-Excel spreadsheet for this quitting business. Contains a record by day, of whether or not I smoked, if so, how many, quitting techniques I used in a given week, a comments section to note what worked, what didn't, what set me off, etc. And a section to lay out my next goals. I actually thing it my be helping me keep on track.
Yeah, I'm obsessive. But when I'm obsessing over my spreadsheet, I'm not obsessing over a smoke.
Also, following advice I've had from multiple resources, I listed out a bunch of stuff to carry around with me for bucking myself up. It has quit reasons, bits of advice reassurances and some zero-BS straight talk. 26 items in all. Right now, I have them on a sheet of paper, but I may get some business card stock and print them all out to make myself a little deck of pithy stuff that I can shuffle through when the fits hit me. Sort of quit smoking flash cards, if you will.
Reading:Hobby--"Hildegarde's Neighbors" (1895), "Hildegarde's Harvest" (1897), and "Rita" (1900). All by Laura E. Howe Richards.
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