Day 3

Here we go again, day 3 quitting smoking. It's hell!

I need something to bite down on. I've got nothing to say.

Watched Dexter on DVD, washed down with two bottles of red wine, some how it seemed appropriate.

Followed by Mama Mia, dished up in the smoke of a number of joints, for true schizophrenia.

I text Mitchell sweet dreams at midnight. Good night pumpkin, he text back.

I couldn't help but smile, as I lay my pissed/stoned head down on the pillow. Bump. I guess that's my "more effort," one text @ midnight. I laughed at myself.

Do you like it?

Independent and free? Someone who loves me? Nothing should change, if it's right. Surly he fell in love with me while I was being independent and free?

Of course, I am dangerously deprived of nicotine, I could say anything.

Does anybody else hear that ringing?