Two Very Long Weeks.

Tomorrow (that's Friday 1 February) at 8:00 PM Central, I will have been officially not smoking for two weeks exactly. For some reason, I just haven't lit up, and the further I've gotten from my last one, the less I've wanted one even when I've wanted one, if you know what I mean.

I've got a pack with a lighter here on my desk, just like always, and my ashtray is here as well. There's a pack in my bag, one in the inside pocket of my favorite jacket, one in the "throne room", one upstairs in the games room, and two (one current, one backup) in Thumper (no smoking allowed in Skarlet The Zippy Red Car anyhow). I also have a full carton and a half-full carton here in the office. I haven't thrown out any cigarettes, any lighters, any ashtrays. All the stuff I need to spark up and feel the sanity that nicotine brings is right here where it's been for the six years we've lived in this house. If I threw it away, then it would be like I was a naughty child being punished, which would likely result in me sneaking off to the laundry room or the garage or the back staircase the first few times, then just going right back to it without missing much of a beat.

I feel better. The coughs that bring up a quart of gunk and make me sound like I should be in the TB ward have nearly ended. I am hungry ALL THE DAMN TIME but have fallen deeply in love with chocolate-chip chewy granola bars (100 calories per bar, 10 bars per box, 2 boxes for $3 at Target this week, woohoo); still, I can feel my jeans getting a bit snug and it's only been two weeks. (Guess next I'll have to dust off that godforsaken Bowflex that's in the holiday suite.)

The family is being very supportive. The twins know that Mumma's going to be a bit snarly because she's quit smoking, so now whenever a rant threatens, they run to give me a hug. Elder daughter sees my hands start to twitch and fidget, and then reaches over and holds my hand to shift my mind somewhere else (and really, how many 12-year-olds do YOU know who will hold their mum's hand in public?). Mark needs only to hear me scream "I WANT ONE" to jump into action -- his anti-smoking move is to drop me into a Rhett/Scarlet kiss!

Just thought I'd let you guys in on the reason why I've been a bit quiet lately. I'm pretty proud of myself, mostly because I have not reached in through anyone's left nostril to rip their lungs out, even though there are a couple of local realtor assholes who richly deserve it. So far, it's all good, going just a day at a time (with chewy granola bars and warm cuddles and hand-holding and big lovely smooches to help).

1 Day, 4 Hours, 9 Minutes ...

... or, if you prefer, 1689 minutes (which is 100,800 seconds). That's how long it's been since my last cigarette.

I started smoking in August 1984, when I was 17 and beginning my senior year in high school. I had a job at a nifty store at the mall called Cricket Alley. Pretty much everybody who worked there smoked, so I picked it up too. I mean, hey, I had to dress like them, answer the phone like them, act like them, sell like them ... I had to learn all of those things, and I suppose I just learned to smoke like them as well.

I've smoked through the last twenty-three and a half years pretty well without pause, except for stopping while pregnant with elder daughter because it made me ill (not with the twins, though, but that's another story which you should definitely find out about before you go hatin').

Mark quit a year ago next month, and I'm really proud of him. He was quite a piece of work for about six weeks, but we persevered and won. He kept telling me that if I was cooperative, I'd be quitting at the same time, but I thought that one of us would likely wind up on the floor in a puddle of blood (and there was a good chance it would be him), so I demurred and kept on.

For some reason, though, I've decided now it's time to stop. I don't know why the idea's got into my head, and I don't know how long it will stay. I *almost* quit a couple of years ago after the three-plane trip to England (OKC to Dallas to Boston to Manchester ... smoked in OKC, plane was late leaving Dallas, barely saw Boston, no smoking till Manchester ... I went about 10 days only smoking at the pub). Guess we'll see if I can really do it this time.

One day, four hours, twenty-one minutes ...

Perspective.

So today I get this email from my friend John in Kentucky. It's really rather awe-inspiring. Well, you know how I like to inspire awe (or pass along stuff that inspires awe, if I wasn't clever enough to come up with it myself, ha), so I've popped it in here. I apologize if the pictures are a bit small here, but you should be able to click on them to enlarge them. Hope you enjoy it.

We think Earth is a pretty big place.

In our part of the solar system, it is.

But when compared to some other parts, it isn't.
When you pop in our life-giving Sun, it's even less so.

Beyond our Sun, the universe gets even bigger. Antares is the 15th brightest star in the sky.

It is more than 1000 light-years away. NOW how big are we?

It gets better ...

This is a Hubble Telescope Ultra-Deep Field infrared view of countless galaxies that are all billions of light-years away from Earth. This is a close-up of one of the darkest regions of the photo above.
Humbling, isn't it?

NOW how big are we?

How big are the things that are upsetting you today?

KEEP LIFE IN PERSPECTIVE.

A Bright Start

You know me, right? I'm the girl who'd rather go to the mall than the laundry room any day, and this day was no exception ... let me explain.

We stayed up late last night to welcome in the new year, turning on (and up!) the stereo in the games room, covering the pool table with an old sheet (because I am INSANE about anything bad happening to the gorgeous blue felt), and popping the cute little widgets shaped like champagne magnums (only on the table, please ... if you get it all over the carpet, you will have the pleasure of picking it all up tomorrow, thank you very much). Mark decreed that the darling brats could stay up as late as they liked, but I went to bed about 1:00 (oh, don't start ... you must remember that I'm the oldest member of the household).

I woke up at 7:00 (a false start; I'd been so bright as to neglect to un-set the damned alarm clock), promptly went back to sleep, and then woke for real at 11:00, getting up to feed the little monsters that populate my immediate environment. We just generally hung out till about 2:30, when I realized that the laundry room is a disaster area of the sort that usually comes with a declaration from the governor and a National Guard detail, and decided we'd go shopping so that I wouldn't have to face the horror of sending my children to school naked.

Off to Penn Square Mall we went (Quail Springs Mall is much closer, but Kieran outgrew Baby Gap a couple of years ago, and he needed stuff ... the Gap Kids that used to be at Quail Springs has been gone for a few years now, and the only one left in town is at Penn Square), gift cards and other assorted plastic in hand. Everybody got new duds (including me), K.C. scored a sound-soother that she's been wanting ever since I got mine (it's lovely to sleep through a thunderstorm, except in the springtime, when God's Own Original Light And Sound Show always brings the potential for the blaring of the tornado sirens, a thought that makes it rather difficult to sleep through thunderstorms), and StrideRite enjoyed our visit for many new pairs of footwear for the twins.

After the procurement mission, everyone agreed on Red Robin for supper. The waitress was very nice, and (warning -- Proud Mumma Moment directly ahead) she mentioned more than once how very polite and well-mannered the children are. That is THE coolest thing ... it's almost enough to make me wish everybody else's progeny were little toerags all the time (but only almost).

At home again it was time to do a bit of work in advance of tomorrow's onslaught of phone calls. I've got a buyer in a short sale that isn't ever going to happen, two brothers looking to purchase a "crash pad" (their words, not mine), a listing to do for one of my friends' parents, a really fun client buying his first house, a vast and varied assortment of other realtor-duty clients, and a stack of mortgages (both purchase and refinance). If I get bored by or finished with that list, I suppose I could always go back and clear out the laundry room.

Cheers --