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11:41 a.m. - 2012-12-06
My own game of thrones.

Still horribly difficult to write without smoking. No. I mean I can whine about how it's difficult to write without my smokes just fine. If complaining were an Olympic event I'd gold medal every time. However looking outward from my own grumbles and writing about other stuff? Um, no. Still floundering there. Trying though. I try every day. Then when the keyboard is all clogged up with my pity-party snot and tears I chuck the day's drippy wailing into the dead letter file and go play with my Sims or bake some bread or if I'm really ambitious I'll do both. So if anyone's been wondering where I've been now you know.

Now before I force myself to find something happy and enriching to blog about I have an announcement:

My chair is broken.

Yes, THE chair. My ratty writing throne is a goner. Last week something critical in its seat support snapped and now the whole chair cants off to the left like a drunkard in a windstorm. I had already been considering a change of chairs, part of the springtime office makeover I promised myself. A reward for quitting. Make it all fresh and clean in here. Get rid of the smoke grime, redo the paint, and finally give my chewed up, smoke saturated, threadbare, beat-to-shit chair a decent burial. But my chair, perhaps sensing its days were numbered anyhow, beat me to it. So instead of a long leisurely try-on process with flirtations and many, many test-sittings of chairs in as many venues as I wanted to I'm going to have to jump into a decision with nothing more than a couple a quickie butt-parkings in whatever's available at Sam's Club. And on top of everything else the new chair will be my Christmas present. Mick will try to argue otherwise, but finances and reality make the new chair THE big ticket item for me this year.

Good-bye, old friend.


Back next time with nary a whine and zero moping, promise. ~LA

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