The Sweetest Thing

Two awesome things happened last week on Thanksgiving. First, I was able to eat with my family! I didn't have to take a "plate" to work--that's no fun because you can't get seconds.  There was none of that Charcoal Grey Thursday/Black Friday retail bullshizz for me! Being fired from the retail latrine has been the gift that keeps on giving, I tell ya. (I did find a job at another store, though, but THAT's another post. I'm behind, and trying to post things kind of  in order.)

The second and sweetest thing was being able to spend some quality time with my not-so-little-anymore 2nd cousin, Munchkin. She's 18 now, smart--she plans to go to nursing school--and gorgeous. I just wonder where the time went. She was the first baby in our immediate family in almost 20 years, and yes, we spoiled her. She was always an awesome kid. We spent the first 4 years of her life like peanut butter and jelly. I was a free babysitter, and I didn't mind at all. She was the baby that gave me practice changing diapers, potty training, and putting a toddler through pacifier rehabilitation. She was my cartoon buddy, my source for a good laugh, and she always made me feel wanted and loved.

Lord knows I love her like my own to this day. Then her mom moved to the neighboring town, and I didn't get to see her as often. Before I knew anything, her teen years had set in, and you know they do teen things. We talked and texted sometimes but didn't hang out. In May, she graduated from high school. I woke up sick that morning and had a serious crying jag that day because I thought I wouldn't be able to make the ceremony. I managed to drag my ass in there, though, and I am so glad.

Anyways, after Thanksgiving dinner with the family last week, I had packed up a to-go plate and was about to leave my auntie's house. As I was saying my goodbyes, she said shyly, "Well I was hoping you'd stay longer..." Ohhhhhh, at that moment, the angels sang a song only heard by me. On the inside, I was all like:

I sat and chatted with her for another 2 hours or so, and she walked around to my chair and put her arm around my shoulder. She stood for awhile, then leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. Just like she did once when she was 3 years old and woke up at her grandparents' house thinking they'd left her there alone. The first person she thought to call was me, and I went running. It turns out her grandpa had gone outside to do some yard work while she was asleep. I went in the house and picked her up and carried her to the window so she could see papa was there. Then I helped her get dressed. As I tied her shoes, she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. There's no way she can remember that, is there??? All I know is I never ever forgot. I may not have experienced morning sickness, childbirth, or stretch marks, but I have experienced "mother love," thanks to my Muchkin, and it's amazing.

So that's the story of what I consider to be the best Thanksgiving ever. I'm easily pleased.

No Regerts...

I haven't written anything (here) in foreverrrrrr. I do make the occasional post on my Facebook companion page though, but it makes me lazy. It's easier to share a funny meme or do a quick post about school or whatever there, but this, this is home, so I need to spend a little more time here. That said, I guess it's time to do a little bit of catch-up.

In case you missed it on my Facebook page, I'm still employed by the local school system, but I'm no longer a sub. I'm now a pre-k paraprofessional--what we called a teacher's aide back in the day. It's a step closer to my goal of being a teacher, even if it came to be by default. See, I started out the school term as a substitute in the position that is now my full-time job. The other parapro found a job at a different school. Eventually, the principal asked me to apply for the job, and thank-you Lord, I got it. It's nice knowing where I'm going to be every day and not waking up to a phone call from Aesop telling me that a job I thought I had was cancelled. No more half-day jobs or grudgingly accepting jobs at schools I didn't really want to go to or grades or subjects I didn't feel comfortable teaching. I do miss all of the teachers, students, and subs that I'd gotten to know over the past couple of years, BUT as long as there's a Wal-Mart in town, I'll still see them. (Can't get out of  THAT spot without seeing people you know.) As for my new position--I got hired in September--I really enjoy it. There are 18 mini-humans in my class. We started out the year with a mix of 3- and 4-year-olds. Now it's 4's and 5's (birthdays and cupcake parties, YASSSS!).

Thank God for a high metabolism.

They're adorable, each with their own personalities, quirks, likes/dislikes and I quickly learned them all. The teacher I work with is cool and I'm learning a lot. However--and there's always a "however", isn't there?--I know this is something that I can't do forever. I really didn't even want to do it more than a year, but now that it's past mid-January, I might have to do it one more year before I become a real teacher. (I may suck at everything else I do in life, but I'm a wiz at procrastination. Like, gold medalist in the procrastination Olympics.) To be honest, as much as I like what I do, I don't feel like I'm doing much and I have a bachelor's. I can easily (?) get a provisional license, so I need to stop damn procrastinating once and for all and do it.

OHHHHHH, I must say one of the perks of working for the school system--but NOT, mind you, the reason why I want to be an educator--is snow days. Unlike my past jobs in retail and radio, if the weather is bad, school is closed, honey. As a matter of fact, we've only been to school 3 days since Christmas/winter break ended, and I didn't have to worry about calling in or missing pay because of these missed days.

Again, not in it for the snow days. BUT...

That brings me to how I have time to write this now. We got 10 inches of snow yesterday, so there's no school for the rest  of this week. The sun was out today, but I live 5 miles from the main highway, and my road is in pretty rough condition. I called in to Hammers, Nails, and Shit (HN&S, remember that?) early to let them that I wouldn't be in because my road wasn't safe. I decided to attempt the drive and left an hour early. I didn't call back to the store to rescind my call-in; I just figured if I made it, cool. If not, no harm/no foul because they weren't expecting me at that point. It was slushy in spots where the sun hit the road and icy where it didn't when I attempted to get there. It would have been ice when I got off, what with the temperature drop and refreeze once the sun set. The manager I spoke with talked kind of of short to me and I just hung up on her. Girrrrrl, BYE. I ain't trying to get killed for what amounts to $50 or maybe $51 dollars BEFORE taxes--I only work a 5 hour shift in the evenings on weekdays at $10 an hour. Not worth it. I went through hell on a spiderweb when I worked at the Retail Cesspool and we had bad weather between stressing about calling in and wracking up points for unexcused absences (because snow up to your arse and perilous road conditions were no excuse to them), or foolishly making the 30 minute drive to get to that thankless place. I said I would never put myself through that again, and I won't. I went to HN&S looking for a job, and I'll leave looking for one. You best believe I'm fully prepared to say ALL of that if they want to get cute and call me in the office when I go in Saturday. I takes no tea for the fever. They can suck it; no regerts, bitchez.

NNNNOPE.

The HN&S Chronicles: The Luck of the Irish

Spring break arrived in a Pinto with a bad transmission, but it's on a runaway train to OVER. How in the name of James is it Friday already?! SMH. Originally, I made tentative plans to for a trip to NYC, and my manager was kind enough to approve my time off request for this week, but my plans fell through. Who's surprised though? I was looking forward my time off even though I wouldn't be making my 4th pilgrimage to the Big Apple. I've been really exhausted from subbing and working at HN&S in the evenings, and I HAVE been putting in the work because car payments, so I thought that a week of working nowhere would be just what the doctor ordered. (I'm sorry. Are y'all sick of hearing about my car? You'll be aight.) However, after I looked at my spring break schedule on the HN&S website and saw all of those unpaid days off, I told my manager that I would work 3 days of my staycation since they're short-staffed anyway. One cashier transferred, 3 quit, 1 is on maternity leave, another got married and is honeymooning even as we speak, and one wanted to spend spring break with her kids. So there's my good deed for the month. Bless me Lord! Oh, wait you did. I won't have a short paycheck next week. Thank-you!

You know, I often wonder about fate. Take last night at HN&S, for instance. If I'd opted to keep the three vacation days I gave up, would I have met a handsome, middle-aged Irishman who thinks I'm beautiful, thinks I look 20 years younger than my 44 years, and now has my phone number? NOPE.

It all started when I accidentally pulled a customer who was waiting at another register into my line in front of him because I didn't see him. I apologized profusely and he told me how beautiful he thought I was. I said thank you and he was about to walk away when I asked him about his accent. He told me he was from Ireland,,and when he asked for my number, I gave it to him, almost without hesitation. The accent made me do it, y'all. I am WEAK for an accent, especially Caribbean, Irish, Scottish, or French. (And YES I KNOW that the Caribbean is not a country in and of itself, but the accents there all have that same lilting melody to me and I gets WEEEEEEAK when I hear one.) He covered  my hand with his--I felt some heat, y'all--and told me that he would call me.

I'm a visual person, so here's a mini-collage of some Irish actors (that I've always been a wee bit hot in the tail for) so that my visual readers can get a visual.

Nope. He doesn't look like these guys.

He doesn't look like (young) Gabriel Byrne, Robert Sheehan, or Cillian Murphy. "My" Irishman doesn't "look" like an Irishman at all. He looks like Peter Gabriel, but not from his "Sledgehammer" days, rather like Peter Gabriel if you ran into him at the Wal-Mart today... buying a sledgehammer. Yep, Great Value Peter Gabriel! HA! So handsome with beautiful blue eyes.

BINGO.

*Picking this post up 2 days later. It's hard writing a post all at one time, yall.*

He didn't call me until yesterday afternoon, when I was already formulating a "men ain't shyte" post in my head. I was on my lunchbreak when my inner Shellybird suggested that I check my messages. Sure enough, "Shamus" had called. I can't even lie. He made my day, and I've only listened to his message a bazillion times. I even let my mama hear it and she was impressed. (Probably because she is concerned about having grandcats, still a yuge possibility.) I called him back that night and we talked for half an hour and texted for a few minutes today. I had no idea how much I missed being wanted and appreciated until someone that I found attractive made me feel that way again.

My entire adult life has been a John Hughes movie.

And I know I am jumping the gun and probably 2 or 3 sherman tanks, but I just feel really good right now, and that's rare for me. I've been mooning over this guy since yesterday. At work today when business was a little slow, I just stood there staring out into space with a goofy grin on my face. I could have pulled a 12 hour shift and wouldn't have cared because I have something and someone to look forward to. I love it. Most of my teacher friends took trips for spring break. My travel plans fell through but I got a free trip on the  love train, so I'm good. (And YES, I know that last sentence was cheesy.)

Sub Adventures 8: The Hackz-n-Snotz & Mirage Men...

No sooner than I made this post on my Facebook companion page about little kids and mucous did I come down with what can only be described as the upper respiratory Hackz-n-Snotz. Hey, mock my coarse medical terminology of you will, but it's gonna be in JAMA one day. Just know that if you ever catch this, you'll find out why I gave it that name. Til then, hashtag NUFFSAID.

Now I've been taking my vitamin C gummies...half-assededly like I approach everything in my life as of late...so I haven't built up my barrier of defense against the juvenile cooties. Maybe that's why I was tuning up to do a little backup singing in Rock-n-Roll Heaven. (Thanks to 2016, they've really got a helluva band now.)

Or maybe it was my seasonal allergy attack, something that was NEVER an issue for me until adulthood. Every year, right at the change of the seasons, I come down with flu-like symptoms and head to the express med joint to get a 10ft long q-tip shoved up my septum--flu test they say--only for some peppy (if it's early) PA to chirp, "Nope, it's your allergies!". Anyone with school-age children, or under the employ of any school system anywhere already knows there are 2 places to lay blame for any case of the hackz-n-snotz (or bubble gutz for that matter) that they come down with: The changing of the seasons/allergies, ergo Jesus or those little germ factories that are our future. For this particular malady, I blame...*drumroll*...THE CHIRRENS! (I'm still praise dancing about my car, y'all.)

Since procuring a new (gently used) mode of transportation, I've been going to schools that I was afraid my old goody wouldn't get me to. Even while driving the rental and my auntie's car, I was branching out. So during that period, I made the 40 minute pilgrimage to a school I'd been avoiding until someone gave me a car. It was a half-day job, and while my students were in the computer lab slogging their way through the infamous SuccessMaker, I saw this...dude, and I think he saw me. He was tall, like over 6' and lanky with dark, curly hair. I mean, I guess. My imagination finished the job that my astigmatized eyes and last ounce of hope started because Shellybird can't see very well. I don't think he's a regular classroom teacher, maybe title I or speech therapist or a tutor, one of those employees who comes in and spirits kids away for 30 minutes or so to give them a little extra help. But I made a mental note right then to cop more assignments at this site so I could scope this dude out. My auntie warned me years ago when I was in high school and slightly more desperate than I am now (I'm simply resigned to my fate presently) that, "just because a dude looks at you doesn't mean he likes you." Well, it doesn't mean he doesn't find me attractive, right?! I think I took on another full-day assignment and I didn't see him, or I glimpsed him from a distance. (Wrangling rambunctious first graders doesn't allow a lot of time for scoping men.) That school is pretty small, which is why I figured he was just a mirage in my desert of loneliness. That's also how I wound up at that same school for 3 consecutive days a few weeks ago where the hackz-n-snotz pestilence was raging.

I got lucky on my third day at this school. As I was leaving I passed a teacher in the hallway who told me that she needed to take a day off and I should try to get the job. I did, and I saw this magical, mystical mirage man again. He is tall, but not as lanky as I had built up in my mind--not that that's a requirement--he's kind of soft through his middle, either formerly fat or getting fat. Two out of the three times that I saw him, he was wearing a teal shirt. Teal is one of my favorite colors, so that's a sign of basically, NOTHING, as I soon found out. I got a chance to swap a word with him he came to the computer lab to get a few of my students for speech therapy. Then again while I was waiting for my kids to come back from the library. I got his name and looked him up on facebook at lunch time. I figured I could message him on facebook which I did and holla that way. I did all of this going on the assumption that he is single. His facebook page is relatively private, with only one photo of himself, but no woman or kids pictured. He doesn't have a relationship status splashed all over his page either, so again, I'm assuming he's up for grabs...or maybe he's gay. I wouldn't be disappointed. I've been wanting a GBF--Gay Best Friend--for YEARS. *Okay, focus, Shellybird!* Some friends suggested I just go all in and send him a friend request. No response on either front yet, and I don't know why I added "yet". It's been 12 days since I sent the message request which has gone unread or he's exercising his right to refuse Shellybird service. The friend request is in limbo as well. That could be Karma hard at work because I can't tell you the number of ignored friend requests I have cued up in my facebook or the messages from random men that I don't respond to. Maybe my chickens have at last come home to roost. In his defense--did I really just type that?!--my hair is currently an ombre burgundy. In my facebook profile pic, I'm a (very cute if I must say so myself) ombre blonde, soooooo maybe he didn't recognize me? I don't know, y'all. What I do know is that at this point, I'm out of the notion of even trying to holla. Meeting men that I deem "my type" is rare, and when I finally do, nothing comes of it. Holla-ing has never been my thing, but after so many years alone I thought maybe, just maybe, I needed to start making some first moves. Chile, that shit don't work. Not for me, anyway, and it never has. I don't really know why I expected it to work this time.

So that's that. Shellybird's dry white season continues....

On the Road Again...

In case you hadn't heard, God is good all the time, and all the time, God is GOOD! I got a new car Monday. Well, to be more accurate, I got a gently used car. It's so nice to travel under the power of my own steam again. It's SUPER nice to travel in a vehicle that has working gages, vents, all the things that keep your car legal. (I Googled myself. My ENTIRE government name can be found on the innanets regarding *cough* "improper equipment".) I don't have to feel unworthy of the "good" parking spaces anymore. Do you know how long I've been parking a zillion miles away from my church, work, school, and the site of my sorority meetings out of fear that someone walking by would look in my car and see what a hot ghetto mess it was? Over 2 years, honey. When people questioned me, I called it cardio.

It's been a stressful month since I realized that I couldn't keep skating by the way I was doing. It all started with my car literally cutting off on me in the middle of the road. Mercifully, it was on a lightly traveled country road near my house, and not the highway or as I was crossing the railroad tracks in town. God really does shower the blessings! I got it started again, but it sounded like a motorcycle, or a lawnmower. My mechanic told me it was the engine and that it was time to start looking for a new car. Every "BAD CREDIT/SLOW CREDIT/NO CREDIT" car dealership commercial that came on tv had me surfing the net to see what they had on the lot. I followed a local auto swap page on facebook, as well as the page of some upstart car dealership that posted pics of cars that didn't look to be in much better shape than mine. My auntie, who is like another mother to me, was gracious enough to let me use her car to get to work when she could. Then I rented a car for about a week. That was a quick, temporary fix that included the extra added bonus of new car smell, but I was really nickeling and diming myself going that route.

 I bit the bullet Saturday and went to a car dealership in a neighboring town. I haven't really cared for car salesmen since I was young and had some experiences with them being snarky and rude, but hey. Supply and demand, right? I needed to ride, so I went in. My salesman was a pretty nice guy and actually kinda cute, but my head was swimming from the stress of trying to find something right away so I could return the rental and return to normalcy by Monday. No time for flirting. Not to mention that this car lot was so yuge, they had golf carts to zip shoppers around in. I'm way too indecisive for that much choice. Cars for MILES, honey. (That may be why I got what I got, but I'm not complaining--more on that shortly.) I sat in several cars and test drove 2. One of my "sit-ins" was just like the car that I got from Enterprise Rental. I seriously considered that one. Another that I'd seen on the dealership's website and was REALLY interested in had a push button ignition. I'm old school--I like keys *shrug*.  The salesman was really trying to talk up a car with heated seats. I gave that one the bypass. See, I have this thing about heated seats. I'm afraid they'll malfunction and blow my butt or vajayjay off. Oh! There was an almost sit-in too. My dealer tried to interest me in a 2004 Toyota Something-Or-Other, pitching what a smooth drive it was. I politely peeked into the driver's side window and it felt like someone had walked over my grave: Same early 2000's technology staring out at me reminding me of how my car used to be and what this one was destined to become. I thought to myself, "Um, SIR, I have spent the last 3 or 4 years watching my 2005 Chevy Cavalier decompose before my very eyes. You couldn't sell me a 2004 Anything even if it included a naked Keanu Reeves in the front passenger seat!"

Moving on...The two I drove were the same make and model, just different colors, one gray and the other green. The green one was a bumpy ride that reminded me way too much of the early days of my car's walk into the light and the interior smelled like cigarette smoke--that CANNOT be masked as I told you in my last post. The gray one had more miles--120,000+--but the ride was smooth, and gray is one of my favorite colors, so I chose that one. The interior is cloth in a very light gray. It's got some stains, but I think I can get rid of them; they're barely noticeable. But most people consider their cars their babies and I'm no exception; I was counting the fingers and toes, honey. I probably need to get seat covers because this chick LOVES to eat and drive. I'm not trying to get Taco Bell juice on the seats this early in the game.

Now that I'm back in the driving (my own car) game, it's like I have a new lease on life. I wasn't scheduled to go to HN&S Monday, and I get my schedule mixed up often. I was sure I had to work, double checked my schedule and I didn't. I think, in this instance, I was just looking forward to the drive. Ha! I've been considering sub gigs as far out in the county as possible...because now I can, and I'm applying for a tutoring gig at one of those far-out schools to supplement my income. I do have a car payment again, after all.

Speaking of car payments, when I paid off my Chevy Cavalier, I swore I would drive it into the ground before I got another car, and I did. That extra $300 a month was SWEET. Wish I'd been wiser with it though. Interestingly enough, a co-worker said he was avoiding car payments like the plague as well. His car is a 1999 Something-Or-Other and he has to hold down the turn signal lever. It won't stay down on its own anymore. I guess there are lots of people on the highways and byways "struggle driving". Over the years, I think I've seen it all: Clear plastic sheeting in lieu of a window, giant holes in the bodywork from some unknown accident (and lack of auto insurance or adequate coverage), paint job gone to hell, bottle of Windex in the car for the windshield because the washer fluid receptacle sprung a leak (that one was me, btw)...But ohhhhh when you get those fresh wheels, you wonder how and why you let things go so far left for so long. That point was driven home to me yesterday (literally) when I went to the dumpster. In the country, the trash isn't picked up from our houses. We take refuse to the dumpster and the garbage man gets it there. I haven't rigged up my trunk with protective plastic yet, so I decided to take the trash in Old (Semi) Reliable one last time before deactivating my tags and registration. As I drove those back roads in a little blue car that sounded like Husqvarna's finest, I was simultaneously praising God and lamenting putting myself through such vehicular hell for so long. Never again though. This time, it's oil changes ON TIME, no smoking in the vehicle and just overall kid glove treatment. You won't catch me riding dirty again.

Without further ado--although you probably gave all of that typing above the bypass anyway--I present my new baby:

2012 Honda CR-V

My beautician was kind enough to inform me that I now drive an SUV. Silly me, I thought it was just a really big car or a fat station wagon. HA! That's not what I planned to get; I set out looking for another sedan. Told y'all my head was swimming from stress and indecisiveness. (That means more gas, but it's easier for mom to get in an out of when I take her places.) Whatever she is, nothing but the best for Dorian...Get it? Because she's gray. Just let me be clever.

I QUIT SMOKING!!!

Then I started again after a month...Smh. I'm so glad that I'm not addicted to anything stronger than nicotine because my flesh is WEAK. I've been a smoker since 2000. I started a few weeks before my 28th birthday. How's that for an early present? Other smokers have   chastised me for starting so late. Okayyyyyyyy...Um, many people started  smoking while they were still in their teens or preteens. At least I didn't break the law. So THERE.

But why did I start? Well, at the time I was engaged. My fiance (that I worked with at the Retail Cesspool) was emotionally abusive and controlling. This particular long story short, the majority of our time together was spent with him telling me who I could and could not talk to, especially men, while he did basically whatever the hell he pleased--with and to other women. I mean, he literally made a list of the men that I was allowed to talk to--and it was a short list--consisting of 2 of his friends (also co-workers) who were already boo'd up, another co-worker who was probably in his mid 60's at the time, his dad, his two brothers, and his brother-in-law. Yet every time we went out, he was introducing me to his female "friends" that we encountered pretty much everywhere. (Apparently, he had a thing for hood boogers and trash; it was truly a miracle of biblical proportions that I tested clean--The Miracle of the Trojans.) Working in retail, where you have to be nice and make eye contact with everyone, this shambling scrub had me walking around with my head down, looking like a fool. See, he threatened to kill anyone that I talked to who wasn't on the list. I was too afraid to disobey. One day, a female co-worker came up to me and told me that he was cheating on me with someone at work (and I later found out there were others). She told me that she thought I was a really nice person and had heard I was saving myself for marriage (he was indeed my first but we decided to do it before the wedding) and she said I deserved to know what he was doing. I was already having misgivings about walking down the aisle with this miscreant, and this sealed the deal. I was so shocked and hurt though that I had to calm my nerves immediately. Since this revelation was made to me during my shift at the Retail Cesspool, drinking was out of the question, plus I had to drive home. I'd heard co-workers who smoke say that cigarettes calmed their nerves, so I decided give it a try, and the rest is history.

I broke up with the guy soon after the revelation, but it has been much harder to break up with the cigarettes that aren't treating me any better than he did, and could kill me someday...Oh, addiction, you wacky bastard...But you know what? Out of my many (failed) attempts to quit smoking, this latest one felt different. After the first 3 days--quitters know that's the hellacious time when you shake the physical addiction--I was enjoying not smoking and not smelling like smoke. During that piddly month as a non-smoker, I became as snobby as those people who've never smoked and are all self-righteous about it, minus the unsolicited lectures. (Y'all make me sick by the way.) My sense of smell was sharper than it had been in years, and I could tell who smoked with just a whif of their breeze as they walked by. Heavy smokers standing in front of me at HN&S made me want to gag--they smelled like ashtrays. I could even tell which of my students were around a smoker at home. Smoking around kids is pretty low, in case you hadn't heard. *side note* I once saw a family get into their car with a newborn and the mama lit a cigarette. It was winter time so they didn't have the windows down so the baby wouldn't catch it's death of cold...But wait.

I never once purchased a carton of cigarettes. I bought them a pack at a time, and it was nice having an extra $20 a week. My speaking and singing voice was so much clearer. The rasp that I had acquired soon disappeared. I've seen videos of singers who sang and smoke at the same time, and I'm just like, how, Sway? I lost all of my high notes, and I want them back.

How, Lana?! :'(

 So whyyyyy did I start back? You know, I really missed smoking. I missed it. Since I started back this time though, I haven't gotten the same type of enjoyment out of it. When I first started, I hid my newly acquired habit it from my family, so when I knew I would have a chance to be by myself and light up, it was almost like a turn-on. I literally felt like I was sneaking off to meet a lover. I got that feeling all the years I smoked, during church, during school, during sorority meetings. "Soon as I get out of here, I'm going to see my boo, Nic." I haven't been getting that feeling this go-round. Ironically, it feels more like when you finally break up with an asshole you were dating but for some dumb reason, you take him back. With every cigarette now, it's more like, "Bitch, why is you here?!"

And I guess I stink again. Anyone who smokes knows that perfume or cologne doesn't camouflage that smell.

Actually, writing this is almost cathartic enough to make me try quitting again, and hopefully really stick with it this time. I'm sort of apprehensive though. I'm afraid of the cravings. I'm afraid of being desperate for a cigarette when I know I shouldn't have one. I'm afraid of falling off the wagon. A friend and former co-worker from my radio days was an overweight smoker. She quit after having gall bladder surgery and being hospitalized and unable to drive after the procedure. I was standing in one of the offices smoking and she came from the studio and rhapsodized about my delicious second-hand smoke. I offered her a cigarette and she said, "I would rather gain back double the weight that I lost after my surgery and have to lose it all over than try to quit smoking again." I've always had an issue keeping weight on me, but over the years I've thought about what she said and it pretty much explains in a nutshell what quitting is like. It's hard as hell, and I'm afraid I'm not up to it and afraid of struggling. I need to be this afraid of dying of a smoking related cancer with a hole in my throat and my face all bloated like my daddy did. (Daddy looked like Bob Marley without the dreads before he got sick.) If I wasn't "too dumb to be scared" his death almost 10 years ago would have been the deciding factor in me putting the cancer sticks down for good. So I guess I'll scramble back up on the wagon after I finish the pack I'm on. I can't quit if I have cigarettes, even if I tear them up and throw them in the trash. I remember digging through the trashcan and finding a few cigarettes that weren't completely destroyed and I smoked them, because these wacky bastard that is addiction. So out of sight, out of mind is the route I will take. No more dumpster diving for the kid. Wish me luck.

Shellybird Randomness...Writer's Block

You know that moment when, as an aspiring writer of short fiction, you finally Christmas gift yourself a laptop and then finally rig the thing up in February--don't judge--and all of those amazing story ideas that came to you when you didn't feel like straining your eyes on your cell phone are now GONE?! Well, folks, this is my moment. I'm sprawled out watching the Oscars and waiting for something amazing to pop into my head so I can catch it on this screen, and...nothing. Ugh.

 My laptop was $200, so....not doing THAT.

I'm basically posting right now just to hear the hypnotic clickety-clack of the keys. Two sounds I love? The sound of the keys on a computer keyboard and people popping and chewing gum. What can I say?

So there's a random throw-away post for ya. Good-night.