Twenty-one days without a cigarette.

It’s starting to get warm. We’ve had a few good days to take the bike out tootling around town, and were able to open the windows to let the house breathe once or twice. That’s nice. The problem is that when it’s nice I don’t want to work. Actually, that’s not much of a problem — the real problem is that if I don’t work much, I don’t get paid much. So what happens is that when I skate out of work early, I’m deliriously happy — until the next day when it’s cold and rainy and I start to feel poor and guilty. Emotional roller-coasters are so much fun…

My stinky insurance company wouldn’t pay for my $120 Zyban bill and now they won’t pay for the happy anti-depressants I need because I’m so depressed about paying $120 for Zyban. That’s depressing. At least they coughed up a few bucks for my ulcer pills…

It all adds up to make me feel semi-miserable for some reason. Oh well, it’ll go away.