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My Profile
Retro-retrospection - 2008-10-06
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4:43 p.m. - 2003-04-29
Jeeze. I've started 4 different entries over the last 2 days and nothing is coming out right. My brain is constipated. This quitting thing is harder than I thought. Yesterday was so upsetting that I totally blew my quota of 7 and ended up smoking more than half a pack. Now I know if I weren't trying to quit I'd have probably smoked a pack and a half, maybe even 2, but it was discouraging just the same. And I had panicky thoughts of what's going to happen when I get a stressed out day after I've quit completely. I need a punching bag or something. Or maybe one of those sand filled body bags and I could go and beat the crap out of it with a baseball bat. Yeah, whacking something with a bat sounds good. I also like to break dishes when I'm stressed. Mike had a lucky find at a demolition a few years back and dragged home crates of caterer's plates. I culled the best of the lot from them, most of them were chipped and the gold edging was mostly worn off, but I snagged about 3 dozen which will do for entertaining on a large scale. The rest? The rest were toast. I flung them. I slammed them to the ground. I shot them with the BB pistol. For more than 2 years I had plates to smash and was happy. But now my plates are gone. When we were dead broke I had a couple of ugly Corelle plates I used to knock around. We were too poor to replace the stuff I'd smash, so I had these two plates I'd take out into the driveway and slam around for a while. Virtually unbreakable, I got a lot of frustration out and the plates survived to be abused another day. The neighbors thought I was nuts. Well, they thought we were crazy for a lot of reasons, but it was me cursing and beating up on dinnerware in the driveway which convinced them we were certifiable. I say we because it was obvious they thought anyone who'd marry a plate mangler had to be a whack-job too and used to cut a wide swath around Mike as well as me if we saw them outside. My high school boyfriend used to let me punch him. Though a head shorter than me, he was STRONG and thickset. A burly bear of a guy, Rich understood my need to whap something or someone and graciously let me pummel him until I felt better. He also taught me to use the tackling sleds the football players used. Rich would stand on the sled and I'd shoulder the damn thing half way across the field. He'd always sigh and say it was a shame girls weren't allowed to play football, I'd have been a hell of a quarterback sacker. You know, I've just thought of something. The Hobbit House is really small and it's bloody unlikely we'll ever be sitting 36 people down to dinner as we have here. No way we could even get 36 people inside the house. I don't need ALL of those caterer's plates. If you'll excuse me I have some smashing to do. ~LA
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