GareK's Garret

Almost football season. I love football. I hate that I can't play anymore. 51 year old women are not supposed to play football (tag, flag or otherwise) but I'd do it anyway if I were in better condition.

I'm somewhat depressed of late. Thankfully, it hasn't led to my feeling tempted to smoke. That isn't to say I don't have cravings. I do, at times. But they are neither strong enough to command my attention for long nor bothersome enough to think I'm in danger of losing my Quit.

I just can't figure out why, when a person tries so hard not to complain or be a "squeaky wheel", why it's that person that gets shunted aside. Why do you have to be a complainer to get results? Or a nag. I don't want to be either, but I guess that's what it takes.

Most people don't pay any attention to somebody else's concerns. If it doesn't affect a guy's daily life, he's just not...

I'm sitting here sipping coffee and trying to calm myself. Outwardly I don't believe I appear nervous, but inside I'm shaking like a leaf. I've been trying for a long time to find the perfect job and start earning a more stable income to help Ken, and have gotten close a number of times. Close, but no cigar.

HAHA! I just realized how stupid a phrase that is.

But it fits in perfectly, really, with how I'm feeling right now. The last position I began interviewing for, I made it to the 3rd round, which was the last one before they made their choice. It was a good job - $80K a year - and I had such high hopes. I don't apply for a job unless I'm at least 80% certain that I can be as big a blessing to them as they can be to me. I'd thought that one was "the one".

The job I'm interviewing for today is probably not going to pay as well. And it isn't going to promote me any further into IT or management in the future. It may be the wrong choice for somebody who has the thought of applying elsewhere in the future.

I've got all that swirling around in my head, but underlying it all is the absolute joy that I don't have smoking to contend with right now. The smell, the embarrassment of meeting somebody for the first time and knowing that they think you're making poor choices, and that might be repeated in your job performance... all that baggagge is gone from me.

So I'm just gonna sit and sip my coffee and "tink happy tawts" and anticipate getting to know this new company and see if we're right for each other. Wish me well!

I caught wind of Camel's new strategy to kill more women and I tell you truthfully, it stinks to high heaven. The New York Times editorial entitled Don't Fall for Hot Pink Camels states that...

"this new attempt to woo women smokers can only be viewed as another cynical blow to public health."

I know that I say this just about every time I post, but wow... I can hardly believe my Quit! I am so very happy to be smoke-free, even when I get sneak attacks from my inner junkie and have a smoking thought or two. It's no problem keeping myself in my non-junkie mindset anymore. It's more of an annoyance that the other mindset ever existed really.

I'm in the south awaiting the birth of our latest grandbaby; we should get to see her make her grand entrance this week. Since she'll be ushered in special delivery (aka "C-Section") we believe we know the exact date and time. But of course, you can't fool Mother Nature. If she wants things done on a different schedule -- well, we won't argue.

I've been around more smokers here in the past week and a half than I have been in the last 3 years in SD. Sadly, all of my kids smoke. Or did. My youngest has just proclaimed her independence. Today is her D3. She's doing well, and I pray she keeps this Quit. I pray she understands how very lucky it is to have an easy Quit. She slapped a patch on and kept one on 24/7 till today. She took it off early this a.m. and seems to prefer CT.

I sincerely hope she holds on.

I'm still learning so much. I think that's one of the best gifts you give yourself during a Quit -- the gift of self-discovery. Of setting yourself on a journey and, eventually, one day, realizing you've been on a journey all this time -- it's just that now you're aware of the journey, and of the blessing of continually learning new things. It's been amazing.

One thing I believe is that I traded my addiction to sickarettes for an addiction to food. I'm doing something about it, and I hope attaining my weight goals is as pain-free and rewarding as my achievement in quitting has been. I've joined SparkPeople and I really do like that. But if you want, you can go to NutriSystem's website and use their meal planners and such, and not have to buy their food even. It's all free.

That's a price point I can live with. :-)

The point is, I knew when I was going through the early stages of my Quit that I was substituting food. I just really had hoped that it would level itself out. Now, when I'm bored I just reach for food. Not good. It's behavioral, not craving based - but it's still not good. I'll keep my progress posted here as I go through the reduced intake and increased expenditure of calories...

I got this email from a friend today and I wanted to share it. The nostalgia of it resonates with me, of course, and I've long railed against the "disposable" nature our society has assumed. But this also speaks to me of our Quits...

I grew up in the 60's/70's with practical parents. A mother, God love her, who washed aluminum foil after she cooked in it, then reused it. She was the original recycle queen, before they had a Name for it... A father who was happier getting old shoes fixed than buying new ones.

Their marriage was good, their dreams focused. Their best friends lived barely a wave away. I can see them now, Dad in trousers, tee shirt and a hat and Mom in a house dress, lawn mower in one hand, and dish-towel in the other. It was the time for fixing things. A curtain rod, the kitchen radio, screen door, the oven door, the hem in a dress Things we keep.

It was a way of life, and sometimes it made me crazy. All that re-fixing, eating, renewing, I wanted just once to be wasteful. Waste meant affluence. Throwing things away meant you knew there'd always be more.

But then my mother died, and on that clear summer's night, in the warmth of the hospital room, I was struck with the pain of learning that sometimes there isn't any more.

Sometimes, what we care about most gets all used up and goes away...never to return. So... While we have it.. it's best we love it... And care for it... And fix it when it's broken.... And heal it when it's sick.

This is true... For marriage.... And old cars... And children with bad report cards..... Dogs and cats with bad hips.... And aging parents.... And grandparents. We keep them because they are worth it, because we are worth it. Some things we keep. Like a best friend that moved away or a classmate we grew up with.

There are just some things that make life important, like people we know who are special.... And so, we keep them close!

I received this from someone who thinks I am a 'keeper', so I've sent it to the people I think of in the same way... Now it's your turn to send this to those people that are "keepers" in your life.

Keep them close

Our Quits are worth Keeping -- and we are worth the effort of learning to live smoke-free. Because we are worth keeping, too.

Keep the Quit Every Buddy!

I've been posting some news stories that come to my website, QuitKeepers, by way of RSS feed, and I stumbled across the story from the NY Times bemoaning actors' restrictions from lighting up on stage. One comment was made that smoking onstage is an issue of "freedom of expression" and another actually said that "smoking is a part of our history".

C'mon people. Get real.

Addiction to smoking is already difficult enough to overcome without encountering the second-hand smoke in a theater. There is no doubt that various plays and productions have to portray people smoking in order to be true to the scene. But as the NY Times article points out, Molly Ringwald, for whom I suddenly have increased respect, used a fake cigarette that emitted powder to simulate smoke to be true to her role in "Sweet Charity".

As to the argument about smoking being part of our history... if we use that kind of rationale, then shooting up heroine onstage is okay. The near genicide of entire Native American tribes onstage would be true to history. Extermination of various cultures or persons of a specific religion or ancestry would be true to history, if enacted on stage.

In short - it's a perfectly legitimate desire to depict what really happened in our history, without actually doing the thing you're depicting.

Smoking kills people. If you're going to give waivers to actors so they can smoke actual cigarettes of any form, tobacco or herbal or whatever, then how about we have an encore presentation of a few terminal cancer patients in their death throes instead of a cast call for a standing ovation.

It is completely unbelievable to me that I'm more than a year Quit. I've been going through some pretty intense job interviews lately and can't deny that smoking thoughts haven't been far behind, but they're behind me nonetheless. Having said that, I remind myself as needed that "every day is day one" when beating any addiction.

My Quit showed me how strong it is this afternoon. I was in meetings all afternoon with two very good friends and B2B clients of mine that I sometimes collaborate with. One of the gentlement smokes. He did smoke only outside, and just as I would have done when I was a smoker, he backed away from everybody as he puffed on his sickarette. At first I was a little scared of the situation, but then I began to feel badly for him...

That's how it is for smokers. You have to step back five paces from your friends and loved ones if you're a smoker. You have to worry about how you smell and whether your second hand smoke is giving somebody you love cancer or not. You worry whether your smoke is burning somebody else's eyes or making them sneeze. You worry about whether people really want to be near you or not.

So, all the while you're smoking, you also distance yourself emotionally. Because all of that hurts, regardless of how deeply you may be able to bury it. The reality of it is still there. And if a smoker doesn't care enough about their loved ones to think of these things - I feel doubly badly for them. How blind we are when we are addicted. How little we realize and how much we have to face later, when the blindfold of our substance abuse is swept from our eyes.

Wish me luck on the job interview! This could be the "domino that starts the domino effect" in terms of our lives improving by leaps and bounds.

Today I have saved over $900.00. Good thing too, with the price of smokes and the tax penalties, huh? California is trying to get a little carried away with that whole tax the smokers thing. I understand the idea behind it, and actually I'm empathetic to a point.

But those who support the proposition in California aren't about helping those who are addicted find a way to Quit. They're about giving the hospitals and medical care-givers autonomy. They're about locking in how the state can spend the funds it receives from the tax increase. They're about greed, if you ask me.

Where did it get into somebody's head that the best way to make a living is to find somebody who is prone to something, or has a weakness or something inside them that makes them vulnerable in some way, and capitalize on that until their victim is either in the poor house or dead?

Well, I'm back home. We actually got back Wednesday late afternoon, but I haven't been good for anything at all since we finished packing up the truck after the show. My feet felt like two solid blocks of concrete at the end of my legs when we dragged our sorry selves up to the hotel room just before midnight the night of the 4th. We ached so badly everywhere that we couldn't sleep. So we just laid there and tried to let our bodies recover. There are three nights a year that I take Tylenol PM, pain reliever and sleep aid. July 3rd, 4th and 5th. But even with the Tylenol PM, sleep was not easy coming to me after the show.

This year was at least 20 degrees hotter than any other year we've been at this site. Two of us, our pyro photographer friend and myself, are very susceptible to the heat and both of us came very close to heat stroke on the 3rd. My BL ended up speaking sternly to both of us, telling us to stay in the shade and quit pushing ourselves so hard. So she and I stopped helping build the troughs and started doing shell count and inventory. We found a rather major problem and it turned out to be a very good thing that we had been assigned to stay in the shade doing this task.

Because we caught the problem in time, we were able to correct it which enabled us to work in the shade the rest of the day. We got done on the 3rd about 4:30 in the afternoon. Everybody headed to their hotel rooms and some ice cold air conditioning for a few hours. We met together for a meal my BL hosts each year -- this year at the Souplantation, which is a magnificent salad bar plus desert bar, pasta bar and soup bar after you get through the extensive salad line. Of course, our crew is encouraged to bring their family with them for the meal, and when we got everybody in line, when the first person in line was at the end, my BL and I were still at the beginning of the salad line. It was funny to see this whole line of people taking up one entire side of the salad bar and know that all of them were our people.

We started early on the day of the 4th because of the problem my friend and I had discovered. We actually had hoped to be able to work in the cool of the morning, correcting the numbering of the shells that had been done incorrectly. No such luck. BL and I got there at 8:30 and the rest of the crew got there at 9. It was already so hot by 9 a.m. that we were literally dripping sweat, sitting under our shade tents. By 2 in the afternoon, when we broke for a barbecue lunch, we were almost done dropping and loading the shells. By 4:30 we were done with what was left, completely tested, and ready to go.

Some of the crew had brought blankets, and laid them down in the shade that the cars made. Many crew members could be seen lying down on the blankets, sleeping for several hours. Some of us, however, were expected to be more of a hostess / public relations person (guess who I'm talking about...) and greeted our guests and visiting "dignitaries". We had given guest passes to the pyro area to the general manager of our hotel and his family, to several of my BL's business contacts, and other assorted people. All of these people had to be greeted, welcomed, and made to feel as if there was nothing more important than them for at least fifteen minutes.

Finally it was time for the show. I was the spotter on the south safe zone boundary again this year, which entails walking back and forth along the boundary making sure no smoldering debris touched ground (or spectators) or had a chance to catch fire. It's not a bad spot to be in for the show. Even though you do have to be watching the falling debris, you still get to see some of the show. The best part about it is that you're right next to the spectators, so you're the person who hears their comments during the show, and enjoy being able to hear the applause and cheering best after the show.

But it's 18 minutes more on your feet as well. And of course, after the show there's the tear down. OY! All the work you've done over the past 2 days is undone in less than 3 hours, if you're lucky. We tore down the troughs, cleaned out the guns, folded up the strips, and carefully crated the modules and firing panel. Then we packed up the truck as neatly as it came to us, and put all the garbage in one place next to the trash receptacle that had been provided to us. We were done with tear down by 11:32 - and I don't think a single one of us could have lifted so much as a safety pin by the time we were done.

Of course, we did eventually get to sleep, and we didn't even begin to move until 10 the next morning. By noon we were at our favorite breakfast spot with those of our crew who had stayed over. (Yes, some of our crew actually drove home after tear down - 2 hours back to San Diego - because they had to work the next day. I have no idea how they managed that -- all I can figure is youth has its privileges.) But we had breakfast at noon on the 5th with those who had stayed, and then we headed back south. We had twelve shells left over (out of a 593 shell show, which is really not bad) so we had to drive the truck back with the explosives sign on it - and drive very carefully.

We literally got home and crawled straight into bed. Eventually we got up and went out for food. The next day, we somehow found the strength and energy to get the truck cleaned out and stuff stored in the garage downstairs, then out for another meal. Since then, we've basically done nothing more than shower, eat, sleep, rinse and repeat. I woke up feeling a bit better today.

I know we have to do the Seaworld show tomorrow so I'm just not pushing myself at all. My feet have returned, thank God because I really hated trying to move around with those concrete blocks at the ends of my legs. Monday I'll get back to work. Today I'm still trying to come back to life.

I have three pictures for my Q Buds. Click each one to see it full sized. The first is a shot of the shells that I dedicated to those of us who have declared our independence from smoking. They were "twin" shells, meaning they would go up into the air at exactly the same time, break at exactly the same time, and look exactly the same. Here's what they looked like before we put them in the guns:

Those are five inch shells, the biggest we had on the show. The next pic is a shot that one of our crew members took... my friend, the gal who was having the heat stroke with me, is a great photographer. She got a picture of the very first shot of the show - it's so beautiful:

Isn't that just gorgeous? She does so well! And, fortunately, she was also able to catch the dedicated shells right as they broke in the sky together...

I'm going to try to make it to the Friday Night Bonfire -- so I better finish this up. If anybody from the Q is reading this -- I'm flattered! LOL! Really, pyro is boring to most people.

But celebrating our independence from nicotine addiction is never boring.

I'm going to be gone on my 6 month anniversary, so I hope the Q Admin won't mind horribly if I write this and link to it instead of having a ramble. It is somewhat Quit related, because it was born from the Qmails I've gotten from people who are concerned that I'll be around matches or lighters over the 4th. I just want to show you a little bit of what goes into the making of a professional pyro display. Because, in the 4 years I've been a pyrotechnician, I've only been on one hand-fired show.

Pretty much every show starts out with a well-packed truck, and on all sides of the truck there will be a placard indicating that explosives are on board. Nothing makes me more nervous than driving down the road with a truck full of product, heading toward Seaworld with my BL and having a smoker in the vehicle next to us. It isn't that I think the flames can jump across the lane - what I fear is that the smoker will just flick his finished butt out the window without thinking.

Because most people don't know what this symbol means, or at least it seems so to me. We had stopped for gas one day, and some nut comes driving up full speed and comes to a screeching halt right behind a placarded truck. Hello??? The atmospheric discharge from lighting can set off a box of 1.3g fireworks -- why are we making sparks here?

Anyway. We unpack the truck and set up either the racks or the troughs. A trough is exactly what it sounds like - wooden walls making a rectangle, and inside the rectangle, the guns (or mortars) are placed according to legal guidelines. Then a backhoe fills in between the guns with yards and yards of sand, holding the guns in place.

Racks are different. They're made of wood and each rack is made to hold a specific size of gun. Guns have to be a certain height, depending on the size of shell they will fire. So you can't put too many big guns in a single rack. For instance, to the right is a picture of four 6" gun racks held together by what are called "racks feet". Racks feet are just strips of 3/4 inch plywood hammered into the butt end of racks to hold them all together.

If we didn't do it this way, the racks would be too heavy to load on and off the truck. So a rack show involves a lot more "building" than a trough show does. The show we're doing next week is a trough show. And for that, I am very very thankful.

After the racks or troughs are put together (or while this is taking place, if you have a big enough crew), the shells need to be counted and sorted. To the left you see a picture of a six inch shell. On the show we'll do next week, the biggest shell we can have is a 5" shell. For every inch of shell size on a professional pyro show, you have to have XX number of feet between the field and the public. So, to comply with the laws, all our shells will be 5" or less.

Each shell is numbered by the choreographer to match up with and make pictures that relate to the music that will be playing. The shell here is numbered 40-C. That means it will go in trough (or rack) 4 and plug into the module at position 0C.

A module looks like this. Since each group of racks or each trough can contain 48 guns, we "address" each shot through a module like this or through a rail that is programmed with a specific sequence number. It sounds much more complicated than it is. Suffice it to say that the shell above would be wired into the module shown in position C.

So on our show next week, some of us will be inventorying shells and sorting them by trough number while others unload the truck and actually build the troughs. We'll knock off for supper after all of that is done. The next day, we'll begin "dropping and loading" the show.

The first step in dropping and loading is placing the shells on the gun into which it will be dropped. This is a secondary inventory measure of sorts, and a visual method of ensuring you have all the shells you are supposed to have. When all the shells are sitting atop the gun that it'll be loaded into, the field looks something like this.

From here out it's just a game of dropping (gently) the shell into the gun, stress relieving the wire, running the wire to the correct spot on the module, and wiring it in. Basically, if you can wire stereo speakers, you can wire a professional fireworks show. There is really nothing complicated about it. If I can do it... well, you get the idea.

At this point, the shells are dropped and loaded and it's time to test for continuity. What that means is that we send a (very) weak electrical signal to each address to be sure something is wired in (or not) as scripted. In order for that to work, the module pictured above has to plug into the back of the firing unit. Look at the picture of the module. You'll see a wire running into one side and out of the other. The first module wires into the next module, which wires into the next, etc. That's called daisy chaining. The last module in the series is wired into the back of the firing unit. Pictured here is a Pyrodigital unit, which is a computer that has the entire show's timing sequence programmed in. The control panel of a Pyrodigial unit is pictured here. With a Pyrodigital unit, being the shooter means holding down one button.

The other type of firing unit is a peg board. With this type of firing unit, the shooter actually listens to a series of pre-recorded cues which say "Fire One!".... "Fire Two!".... "Fire Three!"... throughout the entire show. At each cue, the shooter touches a pin to the appropriate peg, which sends the electircal signal to the correct module, through it and into the correct shell's wire. The electrical current will then touch off the black powder in the shell's lift charge bag, which will send the shell along the path of least resistance -- whichever way the gun is pointed (hopefullly UP!).

When the show is over, we listen -- strain to hear -- the applause. Because we really don't get paid to do this stuff. We do it for the applause, the cheers, the looks on the faces of each kid who found the entire show magical. And that has to carry us through, because while everybody else is driving home, or going out for some ice cream...

...we are clearing every gun, cleaning up a very dirty field, de-constructing all the racks or troughs, packing up the truck and policing the area to be sure there are no dangerous things left lying around on our sponsor's site. Our show this year will shoot at 9 p.m. We will be very fortunate to leave the field before 11:30 p.m.

I'm 50 years old. I find that every year, it takes longer and longer to recover from these shows. This year, I anticipate that it will take at least 3 days of rest before I become human again.

But it'll be such a good time...

I've know I've written about my BL (Baby Love or Big Lug, depending on the day) being a big movie buff - and of course, one of the most topical movies for Americans right now would be Independence Day, or ID4. And I hope you're not too sick of hearing me talk about the professional pyrotechnic (fireworks) shows that we put together, choreographed to music. Knowing that, it's likely no surprise to most of you that I'm up to my eyeballs in getting our big 4th of July show ready to go.

This is my first 4th of July smoke-free, and all the time I've been working on these various tasks (travel arrangements, hotels, catering for 3 days on the field, etc.) I've been thinking about how the movie Independence Day and the 4th of July holiday relate to the past 174 days of my life.

In the movie ID4, a fleet of huge spaceships is covering major cities all over the world. This fleet is governed by one "mothership" (of course) and the purpose is to take over the planet and subjugate the populace. In order to accomplish this, the aliens use the Earth's own technology against it. It uses Earth satellites to communicate and to run a timer which, when it reaches zero, will end life on the planet for most humans. Of course, the protagonists find the method of gunning down the aliens and using their technology to win against them (turn-about is fair play, after all) and the world unites in the common goal of eradicating the enemy aliens from our little corner of the universe.

Thinking about my Quit, it seemed (especially on D3) that there was one guiding force, my own Inner Addict personified as the Nicodemon, attacking me from several different directions (fleet of ships) - and they did indeed use my own thoughts against me. We nicotine addicts eventually learn how to find out how these attacks are coordinated and use our Inner Addict's own strategies to defeat its deadly, insistent voice. Because our inner addicts are very subtle - very sneaky and very clever. But that's what we're all doing - finding how to use every resource available to us to stop responding to the Nicodemon's deadly siren song.

There's a quote in that movie I just love. The president has been poorly advised by his secretary of defense throughout, and he's fed up with it. Completely fed up. He says,

"The only mistake I ever made was to appoint a sniveling little weasel like you Secretary of Defense. However, that is a mistake, I am happy to say, that I don't have to live with. Mr. Nimzicki... you're fired."

As smokers, we let our Inner Addicts make the decisions that are supposed to defend us. As recovering addicts, we realize.. that's a mistake we don't have to live with! What a comforting thought!

And if you look at the Q, well it's pretty plain to see. A whole world of people *are* united against this one deadly foe. Right here, right now.

The 4th of July holiday itself (without getting political) is about self-governing. About not having the life taxed out of the economy. About directing our own growth, making our own choices and not being forced to live by rules we don't agree to live by. How much more perfect a description can there be of gaining freedom from smoking? As addicts, we aren't governing our own behavior. Our finances and our bodies are literally taxed to death (both by the Nicodemon and the monetary taxes) and our growth, spiritual, emotional and even physical, is stinted because we are chained to our addiction. So instead of thinking that we are slaves, living by the choices of others, we fool ourselves into believing we "enjoyed" smoking and that the choice to smoke is okay.

As smokers, we lived by rules we would never agree to live by if we could see the truth of what we were doing. If a child in your family came home and told you that the teacher said they had to go into a gas chamber for ten minutes at a time, every half hour or so, and breathe the fumes in... or that they had to handle fire every half hour, regardless of if it burned their clothing, or hair... or that the principal made them ingest a substance every 20 minutes that was guaranteed to reduce the circulation in their bodies, which could result in a loss of limbs, and reduce the circulation of oxygen through their lungs and bodies, putting their hearts and their lungs at risk -- which one of us would say,

"Oh yes - those are the rules we live by!"???

You really are free.

It's so worth the fight.

.·:**:·.·:*¨*:·.·:Happy Independence Day to us all:·.·:*¨*:·.·:**:·.

I had the worst dream the night before last. It was a "smoking dream" and so real I could feel the sickarette's filter between my lips. I could feel how warm the filter got when I sucked the smoke into my mouth. I felt the burn as the smoke entered my lungs. I even felt the smoke get in my left eye and burn and make it water.

It was so damned real.

And in my dream, I was aware that I was killing my beautiful Quit. In my dream, it didn't seem to matter to me. I felt myself thinking, "Oh well. Six months down the tubes..." Just like that. Just let it go that easy. A part of me was standing outside of it all, like an observer, and thinking "How can somebody who worked that hard to Quit just let go like that?"

I woke up in tears. This was my 3rd smoking dream and I always seem to wake up in tears. I prayed for forgiveness for not caring in my dream that I was sacrificing my Quit. I prayed for wisdom to understand what it is in my life that is triggering these thoughts again.

There is a source of stress - a big one. I spoke with my BL about it. And my brothers. All the men in my life agree -- that is one stressful situation I don't have to endure. There are better ways to achieve my goals than to continue to put up with that kind of situation. So I'm not going back into that situation anymore.

Maybe that isn't the best way to handle things, but this is my life and my Quit (which are inextricably related) and I'm not going to let anything ruin my health. While I didn't mention it, this nightmare happened after a horrible bout of insomnia. I couldn't sleep through the terrible headaches, intestinal problems, and feeling as though I'm going to puke. To top it off, I've been afraid to get too far from the bathroom because it's all coming out the other end (because I refuse to puke).

So, while I may have issues... this is a serious enough situation to call for immediate action. I actually got to sleep last night and I do feel better today. But I'm not up to fighting with the person involved, or debunking the lies he tells. I just don't need this.

Oh! On a happy note, annlclemons has 7 months today... boy am I proud of her!

I've been thinking a lot about the differences in the way we handle stressors and so-called negatives in our lives. To understand the directions my thoughts take, it's probably best to understand what I consider a "negative" in life.

To me, very little in life is truly negative - our perceptions are typically what determines a positive or negative polarization. An example... I grew up predominantly in foster homes, in which I saw and experienced a number of things that we try very hard to prevent children from being exposed to. I can go through life bemoaning all the things that happened, or I can turn the unfortunate events into learning situations and thus turn them into positives.

To be sure, while going through these things, it was difficult and I would just as soon nobody else had to experience them. But if they do, I hope they find a way to use those experiences in a way that helps them grow and mature spiritually, rather than just wallowing in self pity.

And that's where all my ruminations came from I guess. I was thinking about the "vent tent" at the Q, and how one person can see it so differently than another. Going through with that thought, I tried to identify any kind of divergence in the two people - what could make such an innocuous thing seem one way to him and not to me.

Well, he's male - I'm not. Could that be at the root of it? Possibly so. In all the literature I've read, males tend to "go to their cave" when wounded or upset about something. Then they "shrug it off" and proceed with their lives as if nothing ever happened, and this is how they tend to deal with "negatives".

Women are much different. Bill Cosby was very astute, turning his humor toward women's tendencies to go to the bathroom together, etc. It's funny because it's true. And, where a man won't talk about a problem unless he's looking for a way to "fix it", a woman will talk and talk and talk things out, just to sort out her emotions, classify and categorize them, and make sure she understand exactly what has happened and how she feels about each nuance before she can put it away.

It's just a difference in the way we handle things I guess. Men, given a problem, attempt to "fix it". Women talk it to death, come to grips with either the way they handle things or their inability to change them, and then move along. At some point in time, a solution may present itself, and she will talk it out again until she's looked at it from as many different angles as she possibly can.

This is probably why women absolutely need women friends. Guys who are friends with other guys tend to talk about events; past, present or future makes no difference. Women tend to talk about how things happen and why, try to figure out the subtelties of thought and behavior. I dunno why, we just do.

I think that's why, when I was younger, I only hung out with guys. They're much less complicated. Pretty much you know what a guy is thinking at all times. And there's not a thing in the world wrong with that.

I do think, however, it's unfortunate that certain men make assumptions that something is negative just because it doesn't fit into their pattern of dealing with things. And, now that I've picked this thing apart until I understand it better, I feel better. If I'd had another female to bounce all these ideas off of, we'd have probably come up with several more observations.

But... I'm not posting in a "vent tent" forum, so it's just me doing the ruminating...

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5 Months, 4 Days, 17 hours, 29 minutes and 36 seconds smoke free.
1,713 cigarettes not smoked.
$471.06 and 1 Week, 6 Days, 2 hours and 3 minutes of my life saved.

Ahhhh... Friday at last. I say that like I've got it so rough. I have a "job" that is really a contract position 27 hours a week. I don't go in on Mondays and, usually by Friday I've got so many hours in already that I get to be done by 2 or so. That's the case today. And I'm so glad!

This is a long weekend for the rest of the country as we celebrate the sacrifices our warriors have made to ensure that we live free. My Quit-Self's namesake (Garrick) is a Marine and I have a double thanks going out to him this weekend. I chose his name (changed the spelling but the name is still his) so I'd have a tough warrior spirit to aid me in my Quit and that's paid off in spades.

This weekend we're taking some of the money I'm earning and some of the money I've saved from not smoking and getting ourselves a new living room set. I'm so relieved! The sectional we have now is about to break our backs. It's gotten to the point that BL doesn't even sit on the furniture anymore. He sits on the floor and it is really beginning to bother his hips. Can't have that! *wicked grin*

Needless to say, I've been waiting for this weekend with baited breath! I really am excited. I'm happy that I never have to worry about dropping a hot ash on my new furniture, or worry that it'll smell like sickarettes. Happy that not buying smokes is going to "pay off" with a tangible reward for both of us, as my BL has certainly endured through this with me and should have something besides a longer life with me to show for it!

And we both work really hard - we do deserve some creature comforts when we get home. I want something that reclines. Not sure if I care whether or not it's the sofa or loveseat or just a chair, but I want something that reclines. I miss my "motion furniture" that I had before I moved out here. A recliner at each end of the sofa -- shweet!

Anyway - I also have another client to finish up with over the weekend, a night of pyro work to do, and undoubtedly we'll have a barbecue or something with friends. Busy weekend, and if I don't update my blog, don't nobody worry. Just means I'm out having some fun.

You have some, too!