767 Hooked on Cigarettes, Yummies, or Sex - Pick One.

Thursday, June 29, 2006

I was sitting here reading, glanced down at my thigh, and saw an odd black spot. Tiny. It wouldn't brush off. I bent me double so I could get a good look at it. Tick. Nymph. Mouthparts pulled out easily, so I guess it hadn't been "hooked on" for long, but long enough to inject some blood thinner, 'cause there's now a red spot and a tiny lump under the skin.

Now of course I'm feeling things walking all over me. I worry because I have no one to check my back and other awkward places. I can't do it with mirrors because my eyes aren't good enough, and I can't focus in certain ranges. The only way I could identify this as a tick was to take my glasses off and get nose-close. Little hard to do that with my backside.

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With all the rain, my complaint about car windows is back. Used to be that there was a channel around the top of the side windows, so rain from the roof and blown from the windshield was directed around the windows. Like a house gutter works. In cars these days, it seems that channel is missing. The top of the door is smooth, and the sides of the cars have a lot of slope. So when you drive (or even just sit) in the rain with the window slightly open, even just an inch, rain pours in. More than what just falls on that spot, all the rain from that side of the roof and from the side of the windshield drips - more than just drips - is directed! - right in.

Then they put all the electrical buttons for locks, power windows and mirrors, everything, on the door. On a horizontal place. Right where the rain is funneled in. Right into the buttons. That can't be good. Even if you never open the window in the rain, if you open the door in a torrent, those buttons all collect water.

There's an auto supply store next to the rental car office, so yesterday I bought some curved plastic doohickys that you stick on over the windows. They keep wind from blowing in so hard, and maybe they'll block water, too. Next time I get to visit my van, I'll stick 'em on.

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I fell asleep last night with the TV on. Rare, because I almost never watch TV in bed. I can't see it well when I'm lying down, and at the time I usually go to bed, there's nothing but infomercials on. (No cable here.)

Anyway, I woke up this morning to voices on TV, and it felt good! Usually I wake to silence, and that feels so lonesome. Starts the day out lonesome. I think I'll buy me a clock radio.

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Why do all those hour-long infomercials think they have to have music in the background? Not even real music. It's the same 8 or 10 notes repeated over and over. And over. And over. For an hour. Even if I were interested in whatever they were selling, the "music" drives me away by the third bar.

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I want to quit smoking. It's finally really time. It's finally coming from within, which means it finally has a chance of working. But there's a problem.

Cigarettes. Yummies. Sex.

I can do without any two of the above, but not all three at once. Sorry, I really can't.

Example 1 - When I try to go without cigarettes on my own, suddenly the jelly beans and peanut butter cups and potato chips that have been so easy to resist (not even resist - I've had no desire for them this past year) occupy the empty spaces in my mind. I want them! I need them! Combine that with the lowered metabolism when you quit smoking, and my desire to lose these last 20 lbs, and I'm in trouble.

Example 2 - When I am with Roman, I can go without cigarettes, and I don't get food cravings, either. Of course, the longest that's been tested is three days, but I'm confident, given the way I felt on the third day, that it could have been longer. Long enough to detox and lose more weight. But as soon as I leave him, always with the possibility in mind that that was the last time, I immediately need a cigarette. Or a hot fudge sundae.

So before I quit smoking, either I have to lose the last bit of weight and unbury the treadmill, so I can go ahead and indulge my yummy cravings, or I have to find me a man of my own. Preferably both. Otherwise, two weeks in I could break into a Quick Shop in the middle of the night, gobble all the yummies, and rape the clerk. (And if it were Tall Dark & Handsome II, the guy in the village, the temptation is huge!)

I guess I'm just too sensual for words.... (ok, weak. go away.)