Dear Chantix

Its been 67 days since I had a smoke.... oh glorious nicotine, how I miss you, and a decent dream that didn’t involve something stupid like Kinkajou herding in a suit of armor, or raining peeps (which seems like a fun thing until the fuckers start melting all over your car, then what are you gonna do), and I tried going off of you after day 60, because seriously how hard should it be to kick a 20 year habit and by then I would think that my body would have oozed out all of the nicotine from my system already, but NOOOOO.

I started craving yesterday and getting all antsy (which is a nice way of saying pissy and wanting to kill people), so back at the pills I go as of this morning. I was just getting use to not having strange dreams and being able to sleep for more than 3 hours at a time, but then again I did start crying at little things, like running out of pimento dip or having to put dishes in the dishwasher.

I tried something called “Rescue Remedy” which is touted as a natural sedative for dog anxiety, but in human form, and I did intend to give it to my dog during thunderstorms to keep her from panting and clawing me bloody, but since that didn’t work I figured I’d just take it and not care that she was panting and clawing me bloody, but it only lasts for a half hour at best and then I was back to wanting to strangle people and crying over Scooter Store commercials.

I find it ironic that someone on Facebook suggested I go to the vet and get some Xanax for my dog to calm her during thunderstorms, and frankly that was pretty much the last straw for me as far as life and my expensive medical plan goes. If I can just walk into a vet and get Xanax for my dog when I can’t even get my personal physician to prescribe some for me no matter how manic depressive I act when I go in there, then the world is so totally screwed up that I can’t even begin to fit in anywhere.

So, dear Chantix, I will renew my prescription AGAIN and keep taking you, even with the stupid dreams and the messed up gastro-intestinal fest, until such time that I can find a licensed physician to prescribe me something to “take the edge off” of life or the next election, whichever comes first.