Sunny today, and my mood isn't quite so black. There's no logic to these things. Currently, it's 76˚F.
Yesterday, I began compiling the ms. for the Centipede Press ediion of Silk. I only made it through the first two chapters, because I was still getting the feel for the whole cut, paste, change margins, new indent, blah, blah, whatever. Today, I
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I think exploiting the addicted is vile, and as you said, smokers tend to be poor. Convenience stores are robbed for tobacco quite often now. Ironically, the effect of price rises has hit the point of diminishing returns too.
I didn't think I'd ever be able to give up smoking, but I became strongly convinced that I needed to if I wanted to fix my mental health. I was prescribed varenicline (CHANTIX®) for free, and quitting was surprisingly easy. I'm extremely unsure that I could do it again now, so I haven't had a cigarette in over four years.
Both quitting and the varenicline may have been the trigger for major depression. I tend to think it was sitting there already though, suppressed by smoking.
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I love that movie. I can't even count how many times I've seen it. It is almost certainly the first movie in which I saw James Stewart (though possibly not Richard Attenborough, since The Great Escape (1963) was always playing somewhere in my childhood), definitely Hardy Krüger, Ian Bannen, Ernest Borgnine, Dan Duryea, the rest of them. I find it a comfort movie. Everyone in it is flawed and everyone in it is fucked up and nevertheless they manage to pull together and rescue themselves against all obstacles including themselves; the script insists on its two central figures both being sympathetic, being wrong at different points, and both being right. I'm more used to seeing that kind of complexity in stories where the equal and opposing forces explode. It's really nice not to have that happen. It's not presented as easy. But nothing else ( ... )
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