Well now, I'm just totally fuschnickered off track, and it's allll thanks to a phone call--which I thoroughly enjoyed, but which has also made it reeelly hard to not go and buy a pack of smokes.

Yeah, today will be a full week of not smoking. Has it been easy? NO. Especially when Ritchie now smokes Camel's new Izmir Stingers... They taste like raspberry, I'm told... My old favorite was Dark Chocolate, a smooth blend of melt-in-your-mouth candy and mint in a cancer stick.

STOP, STOP--DON'T THINK ABOUT IT

Anyway, back to what I was saying before.

After numerous cutesy little text messages, I receive a phone call. I learn about his late night outings at an all-nude strip joint, including a lap dance.

I thought about being there with you.

*gulp*

It seems that since my focus has been on developing a career, my libido (and my sense of daring, too) have retired to a dark corner and begun hibernating. I've been going to this career consultant thingy place, trying to convince myself that YES I want to work and YES I want a career and YES I want to stop my slovenly ways of the unemployed. If you think this doesn't take a tremendous amount of mental willpower, to get my ass out of bed before 11 am and do stuff, you're wrong. I've been assessing my (lack of a) career, where it should go, what it should wear, how it should smell, and what it should and shouldn't entail. I attend classes on how to be a more focused individual. I'm sharpening the dull knife of my mind. (I almost have a point.) I now paint my fingernails in alluring shades of feminine diligence. I feel a strong unspeakable urge to buy a well-crafted briefcase (one with a number dial lock!) that will hold papers. Important papers, at that.

By the end of these seminars, I will be able to properly market myself as a prime cut of beef for the corporate meatgrinder. And I will be happy to be minced and churned out.

Now, doing all of these wonderful things seems to be having a stultifying effect. I haven't masturbated in over a week. I haven't done in-depth reviews on all of my porno movies, like I planned. Two great classics (Debbie Does Dallas and Devil in Miss Jones) sit on my endtable... collecting dust. WTF is wrong with me?

So, when I get sneak attacked with such phone calls, you better believe I'm in a tizzy. Because reconciling the naughty little minx I was a few weeks back, with this dull, diligent pencil-pusher I'm aspiring to be, is really messing with my head.