But the bitch has problems that are probably worse than mine. The bitch I refer to is my greyhound, and she's having a rough time of it. She's already gone through the surgery that made her a "tri-pawed", but she's nowhere near healed up yet.
This past Sunday AM the wife and I woke up to find that some of the flesh around the dog's sutures was, well, missing. So there was a slightly-smaller-than-dime-sized hole that seemed to provide a porthole to her insides.
I am a person who gets light-headed pretty easily. A couple years ago, I slammed the front door on my finger, staggered back inside, barfed twice and passed out.
BUT, I decided that barfing and/or fainting were not viable options at that point. My wife HAD to go to church for a number of reasons, so I took the dog to the Emergency Animal Hospital by my lonesome. And I did great - I guess necessity is a mother...
They managed to get her bandaged up, so she was much easier on the eyes, and in somewhat less distress. Poor little pony* is in quite a bit of pain, though - lots of nervous moments the rest of the day, with her panting like crazy while her gums go white, neither of which is a really good sign. She woke up "crying" a few times last night, and it's a pitiful sound.
She had a vet appointment this AM, and the vet was surprised at the down-turn and her condition. So they're flushing/sterilizing the wound, and they're keeping her for observation. And that's all we know at this point - they may have to add some staples, try to bandage her again, blah, blah. So we'll see if the dog sleeps at home or at the veterinary clinic tonight.
At least my wife gets some respite from the dog-sitting. She (the wife) is still taking this whole situation on the chin, and hard. So I feel pretty bad for both my girls, but there's not much I can do. Bleah. I've been able to maintain a pretty decent attitude about it, mostly because I have to - otherwise I'm worried my wife might go completely hysterical, which won't exactly help the dog, either. So I get to be the calm one.
Of course, what would really keep me calm is pretty much the one thing that is currently verbotten, so I guess I'm S.O.L.. S.O.B..
* on the Simpsons, Homer goes to the dog track, and there's a sign over the entrance that says, "Think of them as little horses" - it's an easy comparison to make, and I often refer to the dog as "my little pony". someday I hope to take her out for Halloween with a big heart sticker on her butt and a horse-like mane...
Monday, September 14, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
cannabusinessmen and ganjapreneurs
A couple interesting articles I found lately:
I just wish there was something for this chronic pain I have. And I have a terrible fear of getting glaucoma - an ounce of "prevention" is worth a pound of cure, right?
- Ganjapreneurs are cashing in on Colorado's booming medical pot business
- Medical marijuana has become a growth industry in Colorado
- How marijuana became legal
I just wish there was something for this chronic pain I have. And I have a terrible fear of getting glaucoma - an ounce of "prevention" is worth a pound of cure, right?
Friday, September 11, 2009
Ducking Fog, Smart Feller*
What a couple of weeks. Nothing like pet trauma to get the drama going.
The dog had surgery three days ago, and recuperated at the vet's for a few nights. We brought her home yesterday evening, which is awesome. And the vet was kind enough to give me the plate from the leg that was amputated (the plate being there from the FIRST time she broke that leg). Now we just wait for the test results on tissue samples from the leg, and then we'll know if we're dealing with osteoporosis (not too bad) or osteosarcoma (very, very bad). Chest scans were negative for cancer, though it doesn't pick up the smaller bits if cancer is present.
So overall, the situation looks good - although the dog does not. Yowza - the poor little pony looks like she was in a car wreck or something. Three-legged dogs look kinda goofy, granted, but with the huge patch of fur shaved off, which nicely displays the sutures, bruising, etc. - the greyhound is looking mighty fugly. I love her, but I have to try not to puke whenever I see the signs of the surgery. The sutures come out in two weeks, and hopefully the fur will start growing back soon. She's a little groggy and/or confused, yet - seems to go between dazed and owie to dazed and medicated.
I did manage to make my wife laugh pretty hard last night, when I spoofed Amy Poehler's one-legged reality show contestant "Amber" character: "My name is Boo. I have three legs... Yeah, I farted - jealous?"
I get to dog-sit this afternoon, which is no biggie - I can work from home no problem. We just want to have someone there with the dog this early on in the recovery process. I have to be home this afternoon because my wife has to go in to her work for a few hours. In the not-so-distant past, this would have been an awesome situation: Friday afternoon + home alone with the dog for a few hours = time to get high and plow through some work. Now the equation is somewhat different: Friday afternoon + home alone with the dog for a few hours = time to scrape out the ol' pipe and see if I can cop a buzz from resin...
Not really - more likely I'll sit around with my laptop and pick at work while listening for any whining from the dog. THAT's just as fun as the not-so-distant past option... or something.
* yes, this post title is a Spoonerism
The dog had surgery three days ago, and recuperated at the vet's for a few nights. We brought her home yesterday evening, which is awesome. And the vet was kind enough to give me the plate from the leg that was amputated (the plate being there from the FIRST time she broke that leg). Now we just wait for the test results on tissue samples from the leg, and then we'll know if we're dealing with osteoporosis (not too bad) or osteosarcoma (very, very bad). Chest scans were negative for cancer, though it doesn't pick up the smaller bits if cancer is present.
So overall, the situation looks good - although the dog does not. Yowza - the poor little pony looks like she was in a car wreck or something. Three-legged dogs look kinda goofy, granted, but with the huge patch of fur shaved off, which nicely displays the sutures, bruising, etc. - the greyhound is looking mighty fugly. I love her, but I have to try not to puke whenever I see the signs of the surgery. The sutures come out in two weeks, and hopefully the fur will start growing back soon. She's a little groggy and/or confused, yet - seems to go between dazed and owie to dazed and medicated.
I did manage to make my wife laugh pretty hard last night, when I spoofed Amy Poehler's one-legged reality show contestant "Amber" character: "My name is Boo. I have three legs... Yeah, I farted - jealous?"
I get to dog-sit this afternoon, which is no biggie - I can work from home no problem. We just want to have someone there with the dog this early on in the recovery process. I have to be home this afternoon because my wife has to go in to her work for a few hours. In the not-so-distant past, this would have been an awesome situation: Friday afternoon + home alone with the dog for a few hours = time to get high and plow through some work. Now the equation is somewhat different: Friday afternoon + home alone with the dog for a few hours = time to scrape out the ol' pipe and see if I can cop a buzz from resin...
Not really - more likely I'll sit around with my laptop and pick at work while listening for any whining from the dog. THAT's just as fun as the not-so-distant past option... or something.
* yes, this post title is a Spoonerism
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Sense of Imbalance (Chemical)
Found this article today, and thought of me.
I'm not so much manic as just depressive, but I have been called creative. I am fortunate in that I've found a few positive ways in which to manifest my creative side, including my work and my main hobby. (Perhaps) ironically, the "main hobby" is performing improvisational comedy. And I'm decent at it - God made me goofy-looking, so I do a lot of the physical comedy stuff, but for whatever reason God also made me reasonably smart/clever, so I get some quick-witted stuff in there, too. Imagine a straight Oscar Wilde who can do pratfalls all day, and you'll probably be close to my onstage (if not off-stage) persona.
Since I quit smoking, I have (perhaps) ironically not felt all that creative, nor motivated to do much of anything. I've nearly beaten the bonus quests in Jewel Quest III, which I downloaded to have something to do that didn't involve smoking the good stuff, twisting, or other nervous tics and what-have-you. So I kept my hands busy, but nothing to show for it, really.
Meanwhile, entropy continues. My house has a few issues that I should address, my dog has 75% of the legs she had before (although she was mostly using the same 75% about 95% of the time), and my general routine is get up, go to work, get home, sit on the couch, read in bed, eventually fall asleep, and then repeat. So not feeling like a really productive member of society of late.
Lots of great ideas, or at least grandiose ones: redoing my home office in the steampunk aesthetic, obtaining/modding a vehicle of some sort (preferably an International Harvester Scout, but a cool old rat rod would give me a lot to do creatively), building a kegerator, refurbishing the old console radio/record player in the church's youth house to accommodate iPods or at least get rid of the scratchy quality of the speakers/volume controls. Great ideas all, some of which had a start until I quit smoking.
So I guess that's the next challenge - I quit weed, now I need to quit puking and crying about it and get on with the regular stuff that I would normally do. Like all the other normal people out there. But what is normal? I'm not so sure I know, or if "normal" really exists apart from a consensual hallucination of society with the label "average" on it.
Ever onward, through the fog - lately I've been wishing for a return of the purple haze.
SOB - just looked at eBay motors to find a Scout picture, and damn if the one pictured above isn't for sale - like, 10 minutes from where I live. AGAIN. My wife and I seriously discussed bidding on it when it was listed last time. I managed to convince myself it was impractical and moped around for a few days. Now I get to try not to re-live that. Yippee-friggin-shizzle.And the hits keep coming. Not the "hits of the kind" I'm wishing for right now, either, if you get my strained interpretation of the cliché...
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Why I REALLY wanted to smoke this past weekend...
Yeah, I did just post about my (gasp!) relapse of a few weeks ago, but as I wrote that post, I was reminded of another thing that actually did make me think about obtaining some more of the wildwood flower: this past weekend.
Friday went from crappy to pretty cool. Earlier in the week, I finished a pretty cool brochure for a symposium after many trials and revisions. Then I passed it off to my associates for printing. Friday I was asked to post the "new" version to the web site I had set up to promote the symposium. Wait a minute - NEW version? I open the PDF, and THEY HAD TOTALLY MESSED UP THE FONTS AND THEREBY THE LAYOUT IN SEVERAL KEY PLACES. As you may have inferred from the all-caps, I was pretty upset about the whole deal. Turns out a few speakers wanted to add/change their seminar descriptions and/or bio's, and my associates "didn't want to bother me with such little changes". I suspect that these changes were made BEFORE the final brochure was printed, which means that the symposium brochure cover will look somewhat different than the site, the brand identity has been shot to hell, I won't want to use the brochure as a portfolio piece, and on and on.
When I got home, I found out that my wife had painted the kitchen, which is overall a good thing, although she and I have distinctly different ways of approaching projects like that one. By which I mean that I spend a LOT of time with preparation (taping, making a plan of attack, shaking/stirring paint for some time, etc.) whereas my spouse is more concerned with "getting the paint on the wall". Irksome, but I've learned to let these things go - left to my own devices the project would get done right, but it would get done sometime in the next few years or so.
However, the kitchen being in the condition it was negated the possibility of eating at home, and I was able to pitch the idea of going to Outback Steakhouse. Laugh all you want, they make a great steak, and I like to eat said steak. The wait was (surprisingly) short, and the Metro Cruise was going on, so we could sit outside and watch all sorts of sweet old vehicles go by.
After a killer ribeye for dinner, a trip to the bookstore - I thought for a minute that it was my birthday or something.
Saturday - pretty awesome. Didn't do diddly-squat, other than some stuff for church (I do the website, and it's like most pro bono projects in that it's a lot more work than advertised, for little to no thanks). Not that I mind - I can get a little creative with the visuals, and it's my baby, so no one messes it up a la some brochures that come to mind. Also rehearsed the reading that the wife and I were going to do for the morning church service - normally not a big deal, but of course this reading was from some newer interpretation of "Song of Songs/Solomon". While flattered that our pastor thought of us as a natural choice to read, we were mostly worried that we were going to start cracking up in front of the whole congregation - when she's talking about her lover being like a virile gazelle, leaping mountains, and I'm talking about my little dove and her ravishing face, well - we're "shwoopy" as I've mentioned, but we also tend to make each other laugh.
Sunday - got through the reading just fine, lots of compliments afterward, etc. I though we were expressive without being irreverent, and we didn't collapse in a heap of giggles. Although I did see several congregation members with pretty goofy grins showing while we were up there.
Nice sunny day, I treated myself to a mocha on the way home (we drove separately as she had some youth-director stuff to do), and then we had a nice light lunch and prepared to laze around and/or nap the day away.
And then it happened.
Our greyhound was sitting on the floor, as she usually does. Then she hops to her feet, and suddenly starts yelping in pain repeatedly, which if you've ever heard the sound, well, it's pretty scary. So my wife and I converge on the poor little pony, and damn if her leg isn't bleeding a little bit. Son of a witch, with a capital "B" - she did something to her leg all right.
This is the same leg (right front) that she broke pretty much in half several years ago. She spent nearly half a year in casts and splints, so her "ankle" bones are fused, and the leg was pretty gimpy and sad-looking since. She hardly uses it, to be honest. Not that it bothered her, but still, I always felt like a bad parent walking with her - people always come up and ask, "Oh, no - what happened to your dog?" or "It looks like your dog hurt her foot." The dog picks up on this and will then "milks" it for all the attention she can get. The little bitch is crafty, trust me.
ANYhoo, my wife and I are pretty freaked out at this point, and although we get the dog to calm down pretty quickly, it's pretty obvious that something is wrong (again) with her right front leg. Since it's Sunday, our usual vet isn't open, so we need to truck the poor dog to the other side of town to the emergency animal hospital, which is 1)inconvenient, and 2)wicked expensive.
We get there, and it's a madhouse - it was apparently "let your animal hurt itself day" and though we beat the rush, it was a long wait before, during, and after examinations/procedures.
Finally the vet comes into the exam room after running x-rays, and shows us the film. Ouch. The dog did break her leg again - apparently right at the end of the plate that was installed to fix it the last time. On top of that, the bone looked not-so-good in general, as in "osteosarcoma" as in F-ING BONE CANCER IN MY F-ING DOG. Sh-t and f--k!
I managed to keep it together, and my wife mostly did, but we were pretty much in shock. The dog got splinted and doped up (not in that order), and we got a nice big bill for the trouble of getting some pretty crap-tastic news about what is basically our kid.
So, yeah, I wanted to get stoned pretty badly at that point.
I decided not to cry until we got home, but once there, my wife looked some things up and found out that lots of times, if a dog gets the osteosarcoma diagnosis, the life expectancy is about a year. W. T. F.
So now I'm wondering if/when my dog's going to die, and my wife is a mess. Literally, she made herself sick for the rest of the day, and most of the next. I bit my tongue, because I was thinking her condition was one that could easily and appropriately be mitigated with the judicious use of marijuana.
Our vet was pretty cool about things, and has sent the x-rays to MSU for a few more opinions - it could just be osteoporosis, or it could be osteosarcoma. Either way, I'm thinking I'll have a three-legged dog in the near future.
And I'm okay with that. Of course, I can't reason with the dog and tell her she'll be fine, etc. - all the poor pup knows is that she hurts like hell. My wife is damn hot mess, so I get the unenviable position of "emotional rock" for the family unit for the time being. Hoo-friggin-ray for me. So I never did get the chance to cry about it.
For the record, I am upset, but not overly. The dog will be fine with three legs, and we'll enjoy whatever time we have left with her. It sucks like crazy - this greyhound is something special, and you can ask around for verification on that. Granted my opinion isn't worth much, probably, but they broke the stinking mold when God made this dog. I've never met a hound with more personality, who could make me laugh every darn day, and charms everyone who meets her, dog-person or no.
In summation - my dog's probably dying of bone cancer, and it sort of makes me want to get stoned for a bit.
But I won't. I don't do that anymore, remember?
Friday went from crappy to pretty cool. Earlier in the week, I finished a pretty cool brochure for a symposium after many trials and revisions. Then I passed it off to my associates for printing. Friday I was asked to post the "new" version to the web site I had set up to promote the symposium. Wait a minute - NEW version? I open the PDF, and THEY HAD TOTALLY MESSED UP THE FONTS AND THEREBY THE LAYOUT IN SEVERAL KEY PLACES. As you may have inferred from the all-caps, I was pretty upset about the whole deal. Turns out a few speakers wanted to add/change their seminar descriptions and/or bio's, and my associates "didn't want to bother me with such little changes". I suspect that these changes were made BEFORE the final brochure was printed, which means that the symposium brochure cover will look somewhat different than the site, the brand identity has been shot to hell, I won't want to use the brochure as a portfolio piece, and on and on.
When I got home, I found out that my wife had painted the kitchen, which is overall a good thing, although she and I have distinctly different ways of approaching projects like that one. By which I mean that I spend a LOT of time with preparation (taping, making a plan of attack, shaking/stirring paint for some time, etc.) whereas my spouse is more concerned with "getting the paint on the wall". Irksome, but I've learned to let these things go - left to my own devices the project would get done right, but it would get done sometime in the next few years or so.
However, the kitchen being in the condition it was negated the possibility of eating at home, and I was able to pitch the idea of going to Outback Steakhouse. Laugh all you want, they make a great steak, and I like to eat said steak. The wait was (surprisingly) short, and the Metro Cruise was going on, so we could sit outside and watch all sorts of sweet old vehicles go by.
After a killer ribeye for dinner, a trip to the bookstore - I thought for a minute that it was my birthday or something.
Saturday - pretty awesome. Didn't do diddly-squat, other than some stuff for church (I do the website, and it's like most pro bono projects in that it's a lot more work than advertised, for little to no thanks). Not that I mind - I can get a little creative with the visuals, and it's my baby, so no one messes it up a la some brochures that come to mind. Also rehearsed the reading that the wife and I were going to do for the morning church service - normally not a big deal, but of course this reading was from some newer interpretation of "Song of Songs/Solomon". While flattered that our pastor thought of us as a natural choice to read, we were mostly worried that we were going to start cracking up in front of the whole congregation - when she's talking about her lover being like a virile gazelle, leaping mountains, and I'm talking about my little dove and her ravishing face, well - we're "shwoopy" as I've mentioned, but we also tend to make each other laugh.
Sunday - got through the reading just fine, lots of compliments afterward, etc. I though we were expressive without being irreverent, and we didn't collapse in a heap of giggles. Although I did see several congregation members with pretty goofy grins showing while we were up there.
Nice sunny day, I treated myself to a mocha on the way home (we drove separately as she had some youth-director stuff to do), and then we had a nice light lunch and prepared to laze around and/or nap the day away.
And then it happened.
Our greyhound was sitting on the floor, as she usually does. Then she hops to her feet, and suddenly starts yelping in pain repeatedly, which if you've ever heard the sound, well, it's pretty scary. So my wife and I converge on the poor little pony, and damn if her leg isn't bleeding a little bit. Son of a witch, with a capital "B" - she did something to her leg all right.
This is the same leg (right front) that she broke pretty much in half several years ago. She spent nearly half a year in casts and splints, so her "ankle" bones are fused, and the leg was pretty gimpy and sad-looking since. She hardly uses it, to be honest. Not that it bothered her, but still, I always felt like a bad parent walking with her - people always come up and ask, "Oh, no - what happened to your dog?" or "It looks like your dog hurt her foot." The dog picks up on this and will then "milks" it for all the attention she can get. The little bitch is crafty, trust me.
ANYhoo, my wife and I are pretty freaked out at this point, and although we get the dog to calm down pretty quickly, it's pretty obvious that something is wrong (again) with her right front leg. Since it's Sunday, our usual vet isn't open, so we need to truck the poor dog to the other side of town to the emergency animal hospital, which is 1)inconvenient, and 2)wicked expensive.
We get there, and it's a madhouse - it was apparently "let your animal hurt itself day" and though we beat the rush, it was a long wait before, during, and after examinations/procedures.
Finally the vet comes into the exam room after running x-rays, and shows us the film. Ouch. The dog did break her leg again - apparently right at the end of the plate that was installed to fix it the last time. On top of that, the bone looked not-so-good in general, as in "osteosarcoma" as in F-ING BONE CANCER IN MY F-ING DOG. Sh-t and f--k!
I managed to keep it together, and my wife mostly did, but we were pretty much in shock. The dog got splinted and doped up (not in that order), and we got a nice big bill for the trouble of getting some pretty crap-tastic news about what is basically our kid.
So, yeah, I wanted to get stoned pretty badly at that point.
I decided not to cry until we got home, but once there, my wife looked some things up and found out that lots of times, if a dog gets the osteosarcoma diagnosis, the life expectancy is about a year. W. T. F.
So now I'm wondering if/when my dog's going to die, and my wife is a mess. Literally, she made herself sick for the rest of the day, and most of the next. I bit my tongue, because I was thinking her condition was one that could easily and appropriately be mitigated with the judicious use of marijuana.
Our vet was pretty cool about things, and has sent the x-rays to MSU for a few more opinions - it could just be osteoporosis, or it could be osteosarcoma. Either way, I'm thinking I'll have a three-legged dog in the near future.
And I'm okay with that. Of course, I can't reason with the dog and tell her she'll be fine, etc. - all the poor pup knows is that she hurts like hell. My wife is damn hot mess, so I get the unenviable position of "emotional rock" for the family unit for the time being. Hoo-friggin-ray for me. So I never did get the chance to cry about it.
For the record, I am upset, but not overly. The dog will be fine with three legs, and we'll enjoy whatever time we have left with her. It sucks like crazy - this greyhound is something special, and you can ask around for verification on that. Granted my opinion isn't worth much, probably, but they broke the stinking mold when God made this dog. I've never met a hound with more personality, who could make me laugh every darn day, and charms everyone who meets her, dog-person or no.
In summation - my dog's probably dying of bone cancer, and it sort of makes me want to get stoned for a bit.
But I won't. I don't do that anymore, remember?
If we sit down again, is that a relapse?
So, I smoked again. This was a few weeks ago, and partly why I haven't written anything in a while. My significant other left town for a few days to participate in a friend's wedding in another state (Nebraska - where you can see your dog running away for a week). So I picked up a few bowls-worth of the good stuff. It was nice. Nice and familiar.
Here's the thing - or at least A thing - I didn't go on some sort of bender or binge. Just toked up a few times after work, got nice and relaxed for what seemed the first time in a long time, and got some little projects done around the house.
So I have some mixed emotions regarding my falling off whatever conveyance it is that relates to marijuana use/avoidance. On the one hand, nertz - I didn't have the willpower to completely quit for much more than a month. On the other hand, I FELT like I didn't go crazy or overdo it, and I got a lot of little chores done that I had been putting off. So now what?
I dunno - it was nice, and I do still miss it now and then. But I'm to the point now where I'm not crabby or short-tempered (any more than usual), and I'm not craving the stuff. So I guess I'm about where I want to be. Maybe not where my spouse wants me to be, but I don't think we'll ever see eye-to-eye on the smoking issue.
Since then, though, I haven't gone back for more, nor have I felt any pressing need to. There are times when it would REALLY be nice, but they are becoming fewer and farther between. Which I imagine means that my posts here will follow the same pattern. It seems easiest to "maintain gains" when I'm not thinking about it, and writing about it sort of necessitates thinking about it, ergo maybe I shouldn't write about it so much. Eh, whatever.
To focus on the negative side of using (and I'm reaching here) I suppose it's not too cool to be running to a bud buddy as soon as my wife leaves town. Mainly that concerns me in that it might set a "wife leaving = good thing" association in my head, although I really don't see that as much of an issue. We're pretty "shwoopy" all the time, and we miss each other terribly when apart for a day or so, and our phone calls to each other at such times reflect that.
To focus on the positive side of not using, it has been nice to not worry if I look stoned when I go somewhere in the public sphere, and a recent trip to see friends in NYC reminded me that it's also nice to not worry about keeping myself in check after a day or two without. Traveling by plane sort of puts a damper on a weed habit, and I used to have to remind myself that "it's just that you haven't smoked for a while, that's why you're getting pissed that no one can pick a restaurant" and so on.
So I guess I'm in the "maintenance" stage, still. My overall attitude toward the smokables is that I could take or leave it. And while I would probably prefer to take it, it's not worth the trouble (more accurately, "potential for trouble").
To sum up, yeah, I would still like to smoke, but all else being equal - "meh" is what I say to it.
Here's the thing - or at least A thing - I didn't go on some sort of bender or binge. Just toked up a few times after work, got nice and relaxed for what seemed the first time in a long time, and got some little projects done around the house.
So I have some mixed emotions regarding my falling off whatever conveyance it is that relates to marijuana use/avoidance. On the one hand, nertz - I didn't have the willpower to completely quit for much more than a month. On the other hand, I FELT like I didn't go crazy or overdo it, and I got a lot of little chores done that I had been putting off. So now what?
I dunno - it was nice, and I do still miss it now and then. But I'm to the point now where I'm not crabby or short-tempered (any more than usual), and I'm not craving the stuff. So I guess I'm about where I want to be. Maybe not where my spouse wants me to be, but I don't think we'll ever see eye-to-eye on the smoking issue.
Since then, though, I haven't gone back for more, nor have I felt any pressing need to. There are times when it would REALLY be nice, but they are becoming fewer and farther between. Which I imagine means that my posts here will follow the same pattern. It seems easiest to "maintain gains" when I'm not thinking about it, and writing about it sort of necessitates thinking about it, ergo maybe I shouldn't write about it so much. Eh, whatever.
To focus on the negative side of using (and I'm reaching here) I suppose it's not too cool to be running to a bud buddy as soon as my wife leaves town. Mainly that concerns me in that it might set a "wife leaving = good thing" association in my head, although I really don't see that as much of an issue. We're pretty "shwoopy" all the time, and we miss each other terribly when apart for a day or so, and our phone calls to each other at such times reflect that.
To focus on the positive side of not using, it has been nice to not worry if I look stoned when I go somewhere in the public sphere, and a recent trip to see friends in NYC reminded me that it's also nice to not worry about keeping myself in check after a day or two without. Traveling by plane sort of puts a damper on a weed habit, and I used to have to remind myself that "it's just that you haven't smoked for a while, that's why you're getting pissed that no one can pick a restaurant" and so on.
So I guess I'm in the "maintenance" stage, still. My overall attitude toward the smokables is that I could take or leave it. And while I would probably prefer to take it, it's not worth the trouble (more accurately, "potential for trouble").
To sum up, yeah, I would still like to smoke, but all else being equal - "meh" is what I say to it.
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