72 hours

Well, it's been 72 hours.  The magical 72 hours after which, according to many, many websites written by fuck knows who, the nicotine will be out of my system.  After that I will just have to deal with the "emotional addition." Yeah.  Whatever.  I have no idea what the difference is between physical and emotional addiction, and I can honestly say I don't care.  Is it "easier"?  I don't know.  The cravings aren't as bad, I guess.  But this is coming from someone who just drove to the gas station, bought a pack of cigarettes, took two puffs off one and then threw the pack away.  I feel like I'm going to throw up.

I'm reading Mary Karr's new book Lit (which I was dumb enough to believe was going to be about literature). (Karr is famous for writing The Liar's Club-- the one autobiographical novel every single adult human being has read. If you haven't, well, I guess you're not human).  I'm at the point in the book now where she has joned AA (um, if you haven't read the book-- news flash, an alcoholic writer joins AA. Another book ruined by my big mouth).  She's talking about learning to pray, which I find really interesting.  Late last night I swore I was going to try it out this morning.  But then this morning I forgot. Karr makes a lot of good points (mostly through the dialogue of her sober-er friends) about praying not necessarily being about a relationship with God, but about my willingness to accept that I don't know everything, that I am not paying attention to the good things around me.  That I'm not thankful.  I can't deny that all of this is probably true.  I'm not terribly thankful.  Sometimes I am.  Right now I'm not.  I do know that when I'm not depressed-- when I'm happy, I'm thankful.  So, can I take the reverse route?  Can I be happier by practicing thankfulness?

This feels like Oprah-fueled bullshit to me.  Thank you, Oprah.  I'm thankful for Oprah.  Today I am a failure.  Thank you God for making me a failure.