Day 146
I’ve made a personal discovery.
It’s actually more of a confirmation than a discovery but one that I’ve been suspecting for some time.
I have no will power…none whatsoever.
Even though the current Mrs. Snowman threatened to cut off vital bits of my anatomy and have them pickled in formaldehyde as a visual warning against future transgressions, I could take it no longer.
I’ve started smoking again.
I’m sure if I think hard enough I could come up with a host of fictional and entertaining reasons to justify my shameful (and incredibly swift) relapse but there is just a single honest one…
…If I didn’t I would have lost my fucking mind.
The final straw was broken around midnight when I discovered the notes for a magazine article I’ve been writing. When I put them down there were five pristine sheets of research and essential observations that had been painstakingly compiled over the past week. When I picked them up again they were only four and covered in bits of food, small grubby fingerprints and something that looked like a patch of dried snot.
Now, I’ve watched enough episodes of CSI to figure out it wasn’t done by the ghost of Christmas past.
Luckily I had the foresight to hide an emergency stash of cigarettes behind the microwave and within ten seconds of discovering the remainder of my paperwork I was contentedly contaminating the atmosphere once more.
You’d think that when the smell of cigarette smoke reached Mrs. Snowman’s nostrils she would jump out of bed and run downstairs to attack me with something sharp but quite the opposite happened.
Although it wasn’t long before she made a sleepy appearance, she noticed the soiled work before she saw the ashtray. A quiet and restrained conversation followed where she quietly acquiesced and advised me try again when exterior forces were less of a factor.
Clever girl.
That’s given me the motivation to give it another shot.
Today’s efforts at the tables were even less successful than my attempts at kicking the cigs. A swift $2.20 tournament was soon consigned to history after my pocket Queens were nailed by A-8 off leaving me diving for the cigarettes once again.
Figuring that my run of bad luck (or crap play) couldn’t continue indefinitely I invested $0.80 of my remaining $0.81 on a sit and go table. Needless to say I played quite conservatively until I got A-K suited and the flop came down A-J-10. The big blind checked, I pushed all-in and fell headlong into his trap when he revealed pocket 10’s.
Even so, in my reacquired state of tobacco assisted serenity I took the beat with good grace and contemplated my next move over a couple of beers.
I figured I should just be pragmatic about it; after all, I need to prepare myself for the big comeback.
Or not.
Even though the poker may have continued on its usual path of ineptitude, the day ended on a high note.
While I was rummaging around in a drawer to locate a pair of socks for the morning I found a shirt I’d forgotten about. After being initially dazzled by the truly horrific colour scheme I took the precaution of burying it beneath a pile of underpants before the wife took the opportunity to throw it out.
Even Mrs. Snowman doesn’t have the courage to delve through those.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0.01
It’s actually more of a confirmation than a discovery but one that I’ve been suspecting for some time.
I have no will power…none whatsoever.
Even though the current Mrs. Snowman threatened to cut off vital bits of my anatomy and have them pickled in formaldehyde as a visual warning against future transgressions, I could take it no longer.
I’ve started smoking again.
I’m sure if I think hard enough I could come up with a host of fictional and entertaining reasons to justify my shameful (and incredibly swift) relapse but there is just a single honest one…
…If I didn’t I would have lost my fucking mind.
The final straw was broken around midnight when I discovered the notes for a magazine article I’ve been writing. When I put them down there were five pristine sheets of research and essential observations that had been painstakingly compiled over the past week. When I picked them up again they were only four and covered in bits of food, small grubby fingerprints and something that looked like a patch of dried snot.
Now, I’ve watched enough episodes of CSI to figure out it wasn’t done by the ghost of Christmas past.
Luckily I had the foresight to hide an emergency stash of cigarettes behind the microwave and within ten seconds of discovering the remainder of my paperwork I was contentedly contaminating the atmosphere once more.
You’d think that when the smell of cigarette smoke reached Mrs. Snowman’s nostrils she would jump out of bed and run downstairs to attack me with something sharp but quite the opposite happened.
Although it wasn’t long before she made a sleepy appearance, she noticed the soiled work before she saw the ashtray. A quiet and restrained conversation followed where she quietly acquiesced and advised me try again when exterior forces were less of a factor.
Clever girl.
That’s given me the motivation to give it another shot.
Today’s efforts at the tables were even less successful than my attempts at kicking the cigs. A swift $2.20 tournament was soon consigned to history after my pocket Queens were nailed by A-8 off leaving me diving for the cigarettes once again.
Figuring that my run of bad luck (or crap play) couldn’t continue indefinitely I invested $0.80 of my remaining $0.81 on a sit and go table. Needless to say I played quite conservatively until I got A-K suited and the flop came down A-J-10. The big blind checked, I pushed all-in and fell headlong into his trap when he revealed pocket 10’s.
Even so, in my reacquired state of tobacco assisted serenity I took the beat with good grace and contemplated my next move over a couple of beers.
I figured I should just be pragmatic about it; after all, I need to prepare myself for the big comeback.
Or not.
Even though the poker may have continued on its usual path of ineptitude, the day ended on a high note.
While I was rummaging around in a drawer to locate a pair of socks for the morning I found a shirt I’d forgotten about. After being initially dazzled by the truly horrific colour scheme I took the precaution of burying it beneath a pile of underpants before the wife took the opportunity to throw it out.
Even Mrs. Snowman doesn’t have the courage to delve through those.
Starting bank: $0
Current bank: $0.01