My Iron Horse Hollywood thermometer reads 90F and the heat bugs are making a summertime racket outside the window.
Despite the heat I'm pretty chipper. Zyban has left the building. It's completely out of my system and I can finally sleep, eat and carry on normal conversations without affixing objects to my face or other various parts of me. When I mentioned this today, I was surprised by how many people told me they thought I was being freaky and main-o, but never said anything about it. I find it odd that while it was actually happening, only one person asked if everything was okay. ONE!
Okay, make that two. My doctor called and told me there was a smoking cessation study starting up at the University of Chicago. They need control subjects--the guinea pigs who don't take the medication they're testing. The best part is they PAY ME to quit! The other best part is the study doesn't begin until the second week of September. I was explicitly told, "Do NOT quit yet."
There is something oddly thrilling about being told by a health care professional to smoke 'em if you got 'em. Yes. Thrilling.
And finally, before I pass out from heat exhaustion, I present to you my starchy friend. I've placed Nixon behind him again so you can see how tall and gangly he's become. He's not just my low maintenance houseplant anymore, he's more than that. Dare I say, he is my companion. He has no political affiliations and he never argues with me. Beat that!
Watch him grow!