Woke up early without the prompt of an alarm.
Smoked the first
cigarette of the day which was the last cigarette in the pack and
realized for the four-millionth time that I don't like cigarettes.
I'm going to try to quit smoking.
Sounds pretty easy. Just don't buy cigarettes, right?
Woke up and started talking to myself in my head like most times I wake
up and had a great idea for a book, so I wrote up some notes and
created a place-holder document to revisit when I have the time to
I don't have to work today. Or tomorrow until midnight
so my main goal is to try to lock the Hard Luck anthology because I was
supposed to lock it the last week of March but finishing another
anthology I have a story in and promised to publish forced me to put it
off for a week while I handled that instead.
I write and edit better
without the nagging urge for nicotine as a constant distraction and I
use nicotine as a drug to address my adhd symptoms, so in addition to
nicotine cravings, as I detox off of cigarettes, my frustration
tolerance dwindles until I don't have the patience to focus on anything
and I just give up on everything and start thinking of ways to kill
myself which is never a good thing.
My brain: "This is taking a long
time and is a lot less fun than doing nothing. Why don't I just take
my belt off, make a loop, close the tail end in the top of the door and
lean over and hang myself?"
Me: "Easy, brain, I've got shit to do.
If I feed you cigarettes and coffee, will you cut the shit and let me
pretend that the shit that I do that nobody cares whether or not I do
any of it is better than just hanging myself?"
My brain: "Okay.
It's a huge waste of time and you'll never be able to support yourself
writing books and making art. As long as you know that, I'm going to
keep the whole "Why don't I just go down to the train tracks and lay
down and wait for a train to run over me?" or "Why don't I just throw
myself under the wheels of the bus pulling over to take me to another
grinding waste-of-time shift at my pointless job?" thoughts as a back-up
plan, but if you give me cigarettes and coffee I'll keep the suicide
monsters in the closet for a few hours and let you get some work done."
Me: "Thanks brain."
Having an anthology to edit and finish, and this month's anthology to
determine the theme for, design a cover for, and write up and post a
call for, it's a bad day for me to decide to quit smoking.
Especially when my brain is trying to kill me.
So I just talked myself into not quitting smoking for the four-millionth time.
I'm going to go out, grab a coffee from the gas station Dunkin Donuts
booth, pick up a pack of American Spirit yellow box, come home , and get
I'll have my internet/Facebook up in case anyone wants to
get to me, but I'll have to keep it brief because I have a few dozen
authors that have been waiting to know if their story is good enough to
be part of Hard Luck, and I've felt terrible about keeping them in
suspense while I worked on publishing that other anthology.
So as a
small reward for myself, between reading submissions, I'm going to allow
myself to address Facebook messages, e-mails, blog posts, cover design
ideas, and transferring music over to the 64 gig chip I bought to plug
into my cell phone so I can carry around a tenth of my music library and
have a slightly better variety of music to listen to when I'm locked
into a work shift where I can't bring my laptop in to work on writing or
I have a suspicion that I'm not in a lot of News Feeds.
I have 1,800 imaginary friends, and I've never even received anything
like 500 "Like"s for anything I've posted, so I think that about a
thousand of them are just people that I'm in sort of a mutual ignoring
It's like we're neighbors that never got to really know each other.
I know what kind of car they drive, I'm vaguely familiar with what they
look like, and I definitely know they have a stupid fucking dog they
let wander around in their fenced in yard all day long while they're at
work, and that stupid fucking thing barks at everything it sees and I
secretly fantasize about killing the dog, but I kind of like dogs, and I
kind of hate my neighbors, but you're not allowed to kill people, so
instead I keep hoping that someday they'll just pick up and move away
and take their fucking barking dog with them, but they don't and
sometimes the devil you know is better than the devil that you don't
know, and at least it's not a crack house.
As annoying as a barking
dog is, having a bunch of crackheads hanging around your neighborhood is
a lot more annoying because a dog never broke into anyone's house and
stole all of their good stuff while the people living there were away.
So, I'll probably be dropping and blocking a few people I seem to have
no connection at all with and don't seem to be interacting with.
Please don't comment being all, "Not me, right?".
If you read my stuff and click "Like" every now and then or I know you IRL, or we've done business together, you're fine.
It's all of these people that I don't know who they are or what they do
but I either accepted their Friend Request blindly or blindly sent them
a Friend Request because we had a few hundred imaginary friends in
common with that I'm going to be trying to trim.
So if you're
reading this and we're imaginary friends and we've never had a
conversation, send me a private message and tell me a little about
I'll be looking forward to some brief distraction as I read and edit all of the submissions for Hard Luck.
For now, cigarettes and coffee are calling.
If I promise my brain cigarettes and coffee, it promised not to try to make me throw myself down the stairs on the way out.