I had my first kind of bad physical last Friday. Part of the problem may have been that the doctor was clearly insane. She was all, "I see you've gained FIVE POUNDS in the past year, what's up with that?" and "A DRINKER, too, eh? Tsk tsk." after I had written that I have 1-2 drinks 1-2 times a month.

Then she took my blood pressure. It was unusually high. I kind of suspected this was at least partially because she had made me all guilt-stressed over stuff that I knew didn't really matter. (The internet said I'm still within the healthy weight range for my height. I'M STILL PRETTY I'M STILL PRETTY I'M STILL PRETTY...) I didn't want to tell her that, though, so I admitted that I had spent two hours before coming in drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes.

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't you know that smoking is blah blah blah over the age of 35?"

She had me there. I do know all of that.

For the first time ever, I had a physical exam that really made me feel mortal. My blood pressure is bad. I need to fix it.

I can't give up the coffee. My coffee addiction is 100% non-negotiable. A life without sweet sweet caffiene is simply not worth living. As much as I'd like to, I probably can't give up getting stressed out over completely neurotic things either. That means the cigarettes have to go.

The doctor suggested I cut out one cigarette a month. I'm blatantly defying her instructions. I seem to smoke about 10 cigs a day. The past four days I've been fine on a mere eight. I'll stay here for a week, then I'll try seven. I'm going to do this. It's time.

Also, putting something here means you'll all know I'm doing this. It's set in stone now. There is no going back. If I relapse, the ENTIRE INTERNET will mock me. (See what I did there? I know how to use my buttons effectively. I am harnessing the mighty power of my neuroses for the greater good.)

I just had to go back and edit the first paragraph. Writing about cigarettes made me want one. I should go do something else now.

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