death: really not an option?
the non-joys of non-smoking and the aftermath of big Steve's retirement: an top-level analysis of why i feel like packing it in.

i just had the miserable, sadly unsobering (in that i am not drunk, because if i was, not only would my colleagues be pissed, yo, but because if i was then i'd be smoking a fucking cigarette, goddamnit...) realization that my life is over.

two things went into this, and they're both pathetic and shallow, so if you're looking for depth and scope here, then fuck the fuck off. okay, ready?

why my life is over:
1. i quit smoking and i have realized that i have one extra mouth and brain, and two extra arms and lungs and,
2. no more new stephen king novels, ever, not even terrible ones.

you see where i'm at here? they cancelled buffy, i'm a size eight, the world is just going to hell AND i can't smoke a goddamn cigarette or look forward to being creeped out by El King. dude, fuck it. game over.