Blah Rain; Also, Hedgehogs & Welcome To The Super-Bitch

Uncle. I give up. I'll admit it: I fucking hate the rain. I hate it. I HATE IT. I don't care if that's why Oregon's so bleeding green. Well, to be honest, I hate it when it rains ceaselessly for DAYS ON END. Gray skies, a spot of rain, hell even a whole day of rain here & there, that's great. But it has been raining for four days with no relief.

Although waking up to melty rain on the skylight is pretty nice. I had a funny little dream last night about my folks' trailer converting to a spaceship, part of which involved David Thewlis having a button that would turn him into either a black cat or a hedgehog, depending. He also gave me chocolate. Apparently I like to plagiarize J.K. Rowling in my sleep. But the hedgehog bit, well, that's all me. One day. One day I will have my very own Spiny Norman. The dream lives!

Also, I quit smoking a couple of days ago. So I'm in super-bitch mode. I got a Chantix prescription from my doctor to help, but then I found out that I was going to have to take the pills for six months. Which seems kind of ridiculous. I quit once before, in 2003, & it only took a month before I felt human again. So I'm not taking any cessation aids, though I suspect I may break down today & buy some sugar free gum. I'm secretly fierce. Although being fierce is probably going to involve a lot of sleeping for the next few days, so maybe I'm more softly fierce than secretly.

I've got a couple of thoughts on the cold-turkey thing: (1) What's the point of eliminating poison if I have to use other poison to do it (including patches, gum, etc.)? & (2) I think it's better for me to get all the difficulty out of the way at once. I usually save the best for last, which means I have to go through the worst first, right? I'm not worried about reneging on the quitting so much - the way I look at it, it's goddamn hard & I ain't doing it but once. Besides, I'm in the process of detoxing my system overall in the next month or so, which won't exactly work if I pick up a cigarette, any more than it would work if I grabbed a cup of cofffee.

The only thing I think I have to manage is the way in which I react to sudden shocks to the system, because both times I started smoking, it wasn't really a gradual thing. It was a decision that I made in response to events - some retarded sort of revenge - "Oh yeah? Crap on me? I'll show you, world, I'll crap on myself!" But if my friend can go through freakin' Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans & not start smoking again, well sheesh, I got nothin' on that.

Also, I'm tired of having to go out in the rain to destroy myself. See? It's all a circle, folks. A CIRCLE OF ADORABLE HEDGEHOGS.

Oh, this is not some sort of lame-ass resolution thing, for the record. As if.

Finally: the third of season of "Lost"? I change my mind. I take back all those things I said about how "sick I was of the fucking Others" & that the six episodes I saw "kind of sucked". I suspect that Season 3 is, in fact, the best season yet. Those bastards got me back but good; & for the first time I truly believe that they actually do know where they're going with this. Bless 'em.