Bus Fumes

So call it a fictionalized memoir fer cripesakes. No matter how you slice it, it's still damn fine reading.
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Speaking of books, Daniel Drezner ponders whether or not to buy Ana Marie Cox's new book and concludes:

"In the end, I suspect I'll grab a copy, because a) The excerpts I've seen do match Cox's spicy wit...."

Surely there's a typo in there. He meant "twit," not "wit," didn't he?
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I'm sick of smoking. I'm sick of the smell. I'm sick of it taking two to three times as long to get over a chest cold as a non-smoker. I'm tired of the expense. I'm tired of having something have this much control over my body. I can't believe I've been through my mom's chemo and radiation treatments for lung cancer, and I'm still smoking. That's lunacy.

I started on Zyban yesterday. Five days of one pill a day, then up the dose to two pills a day and quit smoking. Yes. I'm quitting. I pick up a nicotine nasal spray tonight. As of Saturday, I'm a non-smoker.

Once I do this, I don't ever intend to put myself through this again. Failure is not an option. If the Zyban and the inhaler don't work, I'll go the accupuncture route. Or hypnosis. Or laser treatment.

Whatever it takes, I'm not doing this any more.

So, yeah. The next couple of weeks are not going to be the most pleasant of times for me (or Buckaroo Bonsai, probably).

On top of this, there's good reason to believe I have sleep apnea, so on Monday night I take myself off to a sleep center for testing.

Here's the really fun part: "Avoid caffeine or stimulants for 12 hours before your scheduled time of arrival at the sleep center, unless prescribed by your doctor."

Great.

No coffee or alcohol while I'm already jonesing for a smoke. They'll either be peeling me off the ceiling or I'll immediately be out like a light from the shock to my system. Either way, I ought to be a real charmer by Tuesday morning.

Say a prayer for Buckaroo Bonsai... and my bosses, coworkers and friends.

Me? I'll be a bitch. But I'll be a non-smoking bitch.
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