130 lbs. of Fleeing Fury

So F-Train is quitting his job and starting his new-found freedom with a summer in Vegas...

Good luck and godspeed Pocket Brunson. I wish you all the best and, due to an increasing bout of wanderlust in my own life, also bid you a fond Eff You, lucky bastich.

I wish there were blogs like this one when I was growing up. I probably wouldn't have gotten married. Either time. Seriously, I'm giddy just thinking about the future enjoyment of reading it. I can see the whole of blogdom choosing sides, identifying themselves in public and private as Man Cavers or Artsy Lofties. There may even be corresponding uniforms.

Yes, the rumors are true. I quit smoking. I'm sure your reaction will be similar to my mother's ("Again?" she said, supportively), but while I make no promises about maintaining my present condition for life (life is a long time, at least for non-smokers, and one of my past issues with the quitting was the inordinate amount of pressure I put on myself which I am totally not doing this time), I will say this was the easiest quit period ever. I've had exactly one bad withdrawl episode and none of the previous hardships, like those uber-mood swings that lingered for weeks the other times. I've been universally even-keeled and have filled the dead hours of my quit with a healthier diet and exercise. I've even lost five pounds.

I've a suspiscion that my new diet has a lot to do with the ease of my quit as I've been more focused on the fact that I'm hungry than on my lack of nicotine. If you offered me a choice, free of repercussion, of a Snickers or a Marlboro, I'd take the Snickers in a heartbeat. If you offered me some fettucine alfredo, I'd blow you.

You're still laughing about "Pocket Brunson," aren't you? I know. Me too.