Oh, what a world!

Well, the fifth day without a cigarette is here and I'm managing all right so far.  I've had a few cravings, but nothing I haven't been able to handle with relative ease.  It may or may not get worse around the 10 day mark, it may or may not get worse around the six month mark, it may or may not get worse any given time.  One day at a time ...but once I'm moved in at Mom's, there won't be any more smoking.  period.

Yesterday I managed to look around the web a little bit at motivational stuff for quitting smoking.  I don't really think I was craving or niccing out that badly ...maybe I was just wanting something to get pissed at.  I worry a little bit about how bad I'll be as a room-mate, but it was fairly obvious from browsing "quit-forums" that I would suck in a support group even worse.  When the crazy-lady next door was talking about quitting smoking (actually, I think that may well have been the last time I saw her), she was talking about a book she had just bought on quitting smoking, and it was mostly full of "positive affirmations" to help out.

Sorry, but I'll pit my (admittedly, at the moment quite cynical) "cold turkey" against her "positive affirmations" any day of the week.  I don't know if I can stay quit permanently (one day at a time), but I seriously doubt that she could do it for more than a few days at a time.  She's just a little too much like my ex ...only a lot more of a flake.  The spiritual mumbo-jumbo just doesn't do it for me, but I guess being pissed at something must help at least a little bit.  I guess that just keeping busy may be the best thing all the way around for me.

So today is going to be a pretty heavy work-day for me.  Here in a bit, I'm going to need to jump off the computer and start doing a walk around the apartment and either start boxing stuff that will need to go in the attic at Mom's, or just be lazy and grab the already boxed stuff like all of my old comic books.  I'm torn about packing those up to the attic or putting them in the closet in my bedroom ...it seems like the heat may be a bit much in the attic, but that sure didn't stop me when I was living at Randy's, so I probably shouldn't let it stop me here either.  The closet in my room is pretty good-sized though.

Today makes the first of five weeks I'll have to carry things back and forth.  I really have no idea what sort of rhyme or reason I'll attempt to use when deciding what to do and when, but I'm pretty sure things will kind of organize themselves once I actually get moving.  I fucking hate moving; aggravating to realize I'll be doing it again most likely in the next two years.  Aggravating that I only had a year here, but still better that I found out soon enough to get out when it was still beneficial for both Mom and I.

If they had given me a reasonable lease renewal, I would have signed it without giving it a second thought.  I guess that will wiggle around in the back of my head quite a bit, probably for the rest of my life.  I don't have much issue with being a slightly superstitious and definitely less than consistent atheist.  I see no fucking "hand of God" that my sister spoke of here; I wrestled with the idea of moving in with Mom last year as well, and were her health not getting more and more frail then I likely either would have swallowed the rent increase or just found another less expensive place.  I guess that being both a minister's kid as well as the eternal skeptic these days, I can't help but to think about it from both angles.

Spiritual angle:  lease is up, mother's health is getting frail, apartments screw around with the lease making it the decision to move in with the ailing mother a hell of a lot easier.  The timing was ideal.

Skeptic angle:  I read the reviews before moving in, and the apartments haven't done anything that I wasn't thoroughly warned about before I ever signed on the dotted line (four out of five reviews said "great neighbors, suck-ass management").  The timing isn't ideal, it's merely beneficial. Had they upped the lease the same time as Mom gotten sick, had a stroke, fallen down and hurt herself ...now THAT would have been slightly more "ideal" than Mom being tired out all the time.  The sad truth is that she probably needed the help last year as well, but just wasn't bad enough to justify it to herself.

When Mom was originally diagnosed, she showed a problem with a broken chromosome.  Later on in all the treatment, the evidence of the broken chromosome no longer showed up in any of the tests.  My sister jumped on the "It's a MIRACLE!" bandwagon, and even started on a "...my God has the biggest dick of all, and he cured my Mom of a broken chromosome!" tirade that even my brother expressed some confusion over.

Wow.  Well, whatever floats your boat, but if there's really some all powerful entity out there that likes your simpering adoration and listens to your prayers ...I think I'd rather he made some change that would have at least some remote effect on her treatment or life expectancy.  She's terminally fucking ill, and a chromosomal defect doesn't really mean shit when stacked up next to the Amyloidosis and Multiple Myloma.  Show me a cure for the two things that are actually killing her if you want me to be impressed.

I have a rare blood condition ...if it suddenly just went away in a poof (and given that it was never really all that consistent in the three times it was tested, it wouldn't even surprise me if it was suddenly gone); I still wouldn't consider any fucking miracles since it would have absolutely no effect at all on the shit that keeps me from having what might be deemed as a "normal" life.

Ah well ...time to get moving and boxing.  Coffee is almost done and the dog is complaining, so it's off to work I go!