This post has no pictures, as far as I can tell. I’m just opening up the interface and typing – willy-nilly. All I’ve been doing and living for is distraction lately. I am trying to quit smoking again. I hate even announcing that in fear that it’s not going to stick, but I am on day nine. You’d think that I’d be over the worst of it, but I am not. I am suffering. I am depressed. I am having terrible withdraw symptoms. I am not crying all day, everyday like I was, but I am grieving still.

I’ve been trying to draw, trying to write, and nothing is helping me to get smoking off my mind really. I’m even on a nicotine patch. I can’t imagine how bad this would be if I wasn’t wearing one because this is truly unbearable. But I know I really want to be rid of this habit for good. I want to be done with it forever already. But I haven’t trusted myself to leave the house in fear that I will go buy a pack.

Tonight I have my Artists’ Matters meeting with Ellie Blankfort and the gang. Maybe I’ll get some support. Or maybe I will stop off at a liquor store and buy a pack of cigarettes. I certainly hope not. I know I say that like I have no control over myself, but I feel like I do not. I’m so depressed. I just want one F’in smoke. But I know I can’t have just one. I want to think about something else, so I keep trying to work on my memoir. It’s starting to wrack my nerves a bit. I’m on the 25th chapter of the second draft. That’s not saying much since there’s roughly 85 in total. It’s been really hard to dump and cut parts out, but I know I have to do it. I started at 316,000 words. That’s about 895 paperback pages. A book no one would ever want to read! Now it’s 289,000 at about 820 paperback pages. That’s still way too much. I still feel like it’s two books because no one will read it if it’s too long.

Michael keeps telling me not to worry about that. My editor says that it is something to consider. For me, it is something to consider too, but what about the information that gets lost every time it gets cut? I don’t care about my writing. It’s not that its so great, it’s the story. I still need the story in there. Ho hum. What to do? Just cry I suppose. I can only take out so much. I think I’m going to wind up around 210,000 and that is still almost 600 pages. It’s still too much. I need a cigarette I tell you.

I like to have a smoke while I think up titles of chapters, and other things about the book – the order in which paragraphs should go. It’s really hard not to smoke when I’ve been smoking throughout this whole process, and now, what can I do during my breaks to think? I don’t know. I’ve been walking around my backyard like a caged animal. I’ve been sleeping more. Eating more. I’ve already gained a few more pounds – like I need that! That just sets off my depression ten fold. Now I have to stay clear of the scale. Coffee is my only friend, which doesn’t help with the pangs of rage. Yes, rage.

Needless to say, I ma not feeling well lately. I probably shouldn’t be blogging under the influence of cigarette withdraw.  Sorry.