Today is Day Four of my smoke-free life. I kicked the smoking habit last Sunday afternoon after a weekend of puffing away. Cold turkey is the only way to go for me. I've done it cold turkey before and I lasted eight years. I blame my ex-husband for my smoking relapse. Yes, I do. But of course, had we remained together...you fill in the blanks here :)
So, Day Four. My pets are alive and the police haven't been called to my house for any disturbances caused by me, anyway. The police were called to my street which was a great distraction for an hour. I live on a "colorful" street in the historic district of my town. It's not as colorful as other streets, but with school out, it's "lively" around here in the summer months.
They (I don't know who they is) say that after day three, anything becomes a habit and that just may be true about my quitting or maybe I was focused on day three and it distracted me from smoking! I'm not sure, but I feel fine and dandy. Actually, I feel great. I thought I'd have a rough time giving up coffee and tea and was dreading the withdrawals from caffeine, but I didn't get the headache people talk about (again, those people). I'm not sure if my mild withdrawals are because I've been drinking Dr. Oz's green juice, detox concoction, and taking my vitamin D religiously but I feel pretty damn good. Giving up red wine for the time being isn't a big deal, either. I'm not a person who enjoys drinking alone and I live alone, so meh. Be gone, triggers!
There are, however, specific times where I've notice a stronger pull to run to my neighbor's house for a cigarette or ten:
After a meal;
after writing, when it's time to proofread and edit;
and, after great sex.
Not really. I just threw number three in there to make sure you were paying attention. However, my neighbor tells me that sex is THE KEY to success for battling just about any addiction. Unless your addiction is actually sex, of course. Then, I suppose you'd take a cold shower, scarf down a Klondike bar or you'd substitute sex for another addiction like bungee jumping from the nearest bridge, for example.
Anyhoo, yesterday I noticed a stronger urge to smoke after a meal and after I wrote my blog post. The urge happened again as I wrapped up a newly written page of my second novel, Finding Gracia. I literally had to get up, go outside and weed the garden. As I was weeding, I thought, "Wait a cotton pickin' minute!" (my mother's favorite American phrase when she arrived in the US from Puerto Rico), 'I could play games with my head! I can trick myself into believing that writing is the activity and the "reward, prize" is the editing!' An aha moment.
Well, it could work. If you think about it, we are quite able to psyche ourselves into believing any number of things, and not all are smart things, either. If I'm on a balcony, I have to talk myself into believing that I'm not afraid of heights (which I am) and I've talked myself into believing that I could kayak when I had a fear of capsizing and not being able to right myself. I had nightmares of drowning under a canoe, not fun.
I remember the day when I decided to call myself an artist when I began painting for exhibits. I had to call myself a writer when I began to write my first novel, A Decent Woman. Fake it until you make it. I don't just write, I'm a writer. I'm going to do whatever I need to do to not smoke. I'm a retired smoker, an ex-smoker, a recovering nicotine addict, yuck. It even sounds nasty!
I'm nearly finished writing this blog post and I've caught myself looking to my right where my cigarettes, lighter and ashtray used to be. There was nothing better than dragging on a cigarette at a job well done aka my blog and/or novels.
Must trick myself into believing that editing is the same as smoking...or I just might just buy the Blu electronic cigarette for editing. Nah, that would be a crutch. Off I go to think about all that...
Peace and love to you!
Ellie
Showing posts with label journey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label journey. Show all posts
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Memorabilia, History and Shenanigans
There are many things I hold precious in this world and I'm a very sentimental person, so I hold onto items that have special meaning to me. My kids call me a pack rat and they're right. I need to be better at this, but there are a few things that I would never throw out.
As I looked in the attic for the journal I kept during my walk on El Camino and the photographs we took on the morning we left Brussels and on the last day when we finally reached the city of Santiago de Compostela, I found so many things that made me smile and shudder. I'm in the early stages of my second novel, Finding Gracia on El Camino, and I wanted to set the mood.
I've kept 90% of everything my children have ever drawn at home, on vacation or in school from the time they could barely hold a pencil to their college days. From a tiny drawing, to their first attempts at letters and sentences to their college papers. I know, that's a lot and I keep it all in a huge plastic Rubbermaid container up in my attic. Thank God for attics! Their school trophies and academic achievement certificates are up there with their high school and college graduation gowns, caps and tassels, too. That was the part that made me shudder. I need to go through those papers and keep just the best, but it's tough!
I still have my children's silver baby cups engraved with their names and the date of their births, and I have my ex-husband's baby cup, as well. I've also kept many items, newspapers and magazines printed on the day of their births as well as their belly buttons and first bottles and pacifiers. Nuts, right? Not to me. For whatever reason, my mother didn't save a lot of things for my sister and I, so I vowed I'd do things a bit different. It could have been that we were a military family and hauling all that extra stuff was a pain. Could be.
My sister and I have tried to split the family albums and shared photographs with each other. Photographs galore. In newer albums, loose photographs and photographs pasted to those old albums with the waxy paper in between the pages and black paper edges. Remember those? All in a container so that the mice don't get to them.
In another container, I keep things from my childhood and young adulthood. I have a Mother's Day card I made my mother on a piece of manila paper. It's a pencil and crayon drawing of cheerful flowers in a blue vase and I wrote in cursive: "To the best mother in the world. Your daughter, Eleanor." I was always drawing and I remember drawing many things for my mother, but this is the only drawing I found after she passed away in 1992. She kept many cards in the drawer of her bedside table and she showed my handmade card to me the year before she passed away. I often wonder if my mother somehow knew her time was short because that same year, she gave me a pair of my baby shoes and a mint green dress I wore when I was an infant in addition to a silver punch bowl with ladle and 10 silver cups that I always loved. I hope this punch bowl will be included in my children's weddings :)
In an old folder, I have dozens of drawings and a drawing of a woman and a centaur I made in my early teens from a racy ad in Cosmo magazine when I wasn't supposed to read those magazines. Oh, well :) We got a hold of them, anyway. I still have a few school notebooks and black and white composition books from high school as well as an autograph book from middle school. Yearbooks galore. The notebooks and composition books are full of drawings, poems, small snippets of writing, and tons of quotes I collected over the years, thanks to my high school English teacher, Mrs. Diaz.
I have jewelry given to me by old boyfriends, an ex-husband and some remnants of shenanigans I pulled in middle school. I found love notes exchanged during class, a Turkish puzzle ring that I stole on a dare from the Monostiraki Flea Market in Athens, Greece when I was 13 years old and a yearbook entry written by my BFF at the time who made mention of other shenanigans that only she and I know about! I didn't say they were all proud moments, did I? A ticket stub from the ferry from Athens to Aegina and hair tied up in a faded ribbon from a haircut long ago. I found a car emblem that a boy I liked stole from a Mercedes Benz car, trying to impress me and a dried flower in a book of poetry from my second boyfriend who died at 17 in a motorcycle accident.
Goodness me. The history of a family, my family. The history of a life well-lived. Every item I picked up had a history, memory and stories attached. It's no wonder I write historical fiction and love vintage and antiques, is it? And, it should be quite obvious to you, dear reader, that I did no writing today. I did a whole helluva lot of research, though!
Happy weekend to you!
Peace and love,
Ellie
As I looked in the attic for the journal I kept during my walk on El Camino and the photographs we took on the morning we left Brussels and on the last day when we finally reached the city of Santiago de Compostela, I found so many things that made me smile and shudder. I'm in the early stages of my second novel, Finding Gracia on El Camino, and I wanted to set the mood.
I've kept 90% of everything my children have ever drawn at home, on vacation or in school from the time they could barely hold a pencil to their college days. From a tiny drawing, to their first attempts at letters and sentences to their college papers. I know, that's a lot and I keep it all in a huge plastic Rubbermaid container up in my attic. Thank God for attics! Their school trophies and academic achievement certificates are up there with their high school and college graduation gowns, caps and tassels, too. That was the part that made me shudder. I need to go through those papers and keep just the best, but it's tough!
I still have my children's silver baby cups engraved with their names and the date of their births, and I have my ex-husband's baby cup, as well. I've also kept many items, newspapers and magazines printed on the day of their births as well as their belly buttons and first bottles and pacifiers. Nuts, right? Not to me. For whatever reason, my mother didn't save a lot of things for my sister and I, so I vowed I'd do things a bit different. It could have been that we were a military family and hauling all that extra stuff was a pain. Could be.
My sister and I have tried to split the family albums and shared photographs with each other. Photographs galore. In newer albums, loose photographs and photographs pasted to those old albums with the waxy paper in between the pages and black paper edges. Remember those? All in a container so that the mice don't get to them.
In another container, I keep things from my childhood and young adulthood. I have a Mother's Day card I made my mother on a piece of manila paper. It's a pencil and crayon drawing of cheerful flowers in a blue vase and I wrote in cursive: "To the best mother in the world. Your daughter, Eleanor." I was always drawing and I remember drawing many things for my mother, but this is the only drawing I found after she passed away in 1992. She kept many cards in the drawer of her bedside table and she showed my handmade card to me the year before she passed away. I often wonder if my mother somehow knew her time was short because that same year, she gave me a pair of my baby shoes and a mint green dress I wore when I was an infant in addition to a silver punch bowl with ladle and 10 silver cups that I always loved. I hope this punch bowl will be included in my children's weddings :)
In an old folder, I have dozens of drawings and a drawing of a woman and a centaur I made in my early teens from a racy ad in Cosmo magazine when I wasn't supposed to read those magazines. Oh, well :) We got a hold of them, anyway. I still have a few school notebooks and black and white composition books from high school as well as an autograph book from middle school. Yearbooks galore. The notebooks and composition books are full of drawings, poems, small snippets of writing, and tons of quotes I collected over the years, thanks to my high school English teacher, Mrs. Diaz.
I have jewelry given to me by old boyfriends, an ex-husband and some remnants of shenanigans I pulled in middle school. I found love notes exchanged during class, a Turkish puzzle ring that I stole on a dare from the Monostiraki Flea Market in Athens, Greece when I was 13 years old and a yearbook entry written by my BFF at the time who made mention of other shenanigans that only she and I know about! I didn't say they were all proud moments, did I? A ticket stub from the ferry from Athens to Aegina and hair tied up in a faded ribbon from a haircut long ago. I found a car emblem that a boy I liked stole from a Mercedes Benz car, trying to impress me and a dried flower in a book of poetry from my second boyfriend who died at 17 in a motorcycle accident.
Goodness me. The history of a family, my family. The history of a life well-lived. Every item I picked up had a history, memory and stories attached. It's no wonder I write historical fiction and love vintage and antiques, is it? And, it should be quite obvious to you, dear reader, that I did no writing today. I did a whole helluva lot of research, though!
Happy weekend to you!
Peace and love,
Ellie
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