I feel guilty. I should be writing a novel. Or finish that dumb baby-bunting that I’m knitting for J&J’s soon-to-be rugrat.

But I am not.
No, I am writing for the second time today. I seriously thought that was yesterday. I took a very long nap this afternoon.
I quit smoking today, folks. I used to be the worst friggin’ chain-smoker in the world, but then I quit. I love Chantix for that–but then I fell off the proverbial wagon. At least I never went back to 1 and a 1/2 packs a day, right? That’s what I tell myself. So…
24 hours in counting, sans nicotine. And I’m not really grouchy. No grouchier than usual, I guess.
Well. I think I was going to say something else. But I don’t remember now.