And away we go

I was born in 1977, started smoking when I was around 18 - that would put me at 13 years of dealing with cigarettes. Wow. That's pretty bad when I think about it. It's not like I've been smoking 2 packs a day for 13 years, but I've certainly battled them. Recently, I gave in... again. Mark Twain put it best, "It's easy to quit smoking, I've done it hundreds of times." He's not kidding. I ask you one favor... if you've never smoked, don't give me a bunch of shit about how bad it is. I will cut you.

So yeah, the title - it's Day 3. I started taking Chantix, again. It's my second try on the drug. The first try was right before I turned 30. It worked - so well that I stopped taking the drug two months early! Then one night after a great dinner and an awesome bottle of Silver Oak, I caved. They are nasty little demonds but damn are they good. Fast forward to working on 32 years old. Turns out I have really high blood pressure (which I'm now medicated for) and it also turns out that I'm getting old and smoking is for losers.

If there was one memorable thing about my last run on Chantix - it was the month of the most random, screwed up, and vivid dreams one could ever imagine. I had dreams about shit I can't even tell my closest friends about. Last night, after two short days on the medication (at half the dose I'll be taking next week), the dreams fired up again. I've always been a vivid dreamer anyway - but this shit is like a 52 inch hi def plasma versus the TV I hooked my Commodore 64 up to. I'm going to do my best to capture the utter ridiculousness of these dreams in blog form for you to read. Some of it may be strange, but I’m going to try not to censor myself. I'll likely also bitch about quitting smoking and other noteworthy things that are happening in my world.

6/18 - 2 days on Chantix

I was on a destroyer type battle ship, but it was tiny, like 40 feet, so it made no sense. It was painted ghost white. We were closing in fast on this beach. The only way to get to the enemy was to beach the front of the ship. I had a giant handgun and everyone else had assault rifles and automatic weapons. I could barely lift the thing. We reached top speed and hit the beach - we all flew off and I remember landing on this behemoth of a gun. Fortunately, I braced the impact with my nuts. The rest of the people I was with were taking down the enemy left and right, it was wild. I couldn’t do anything because of this heavy ass handgun and the fact that I just took an epic nut shot. I dragged the weapon behind a utility box and found that it was me and one last enemy. We made eye contact - it was John Dillinger (the bank robber). So he's shooting at me and I'm trying to get this big ass gun up so I can fire back. I get it propped up, aim - and I see he's on his blackberry. What the hell is John Dillinger doing on this beach with his blackberry? I grab the giant trigger and squeeze. Blam-o. I hit him right in the blackberry. The blackberry ripped right through the side of his head just about to the middle of his nose. Half a brain hanging out and he's got a strange limp now. Not only is he still alive, he's pissed off - screaming about how his call dropped and it was really important. I'm floored. Paralyzed. Right then a giant brown bear came up behind me, picked up my giant gun, and finished Dillinger off. As I turned to thank the bear, he raised his paw and bitch slapped me so hard I went flying. When I asked him why the hell he did that, he said it was because I was being a bitch and that's what bitches get.