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Today I bought another pack of cigarettes and I’m smoking from it. Writing that down doesn’t feel great. It feels like I’m admitting defeat, or at least admitting that things aren’t going the way I hoped they would. To anyone following along, it may even look like I’ve stopped trying. But the truth is a little more complicated. For now, I’m taking a break from trying to quit. The doctor recently diagnosed me with depression, and I believe it’s connected to the frustration and disappointment around my attempts to stop smoking. Depression isn’t just sadness. People often think it’s about...

Yesterday I bought a pack of cigarettes, and I’m still smoking them today. With such little progress lately, I’ve been thinking about stopping writing about my efforts to quit and just writing about something else entirely. It may be that writing about smoking focuses too much on the cravings and somehow makes them worse. When you put something under a spotlight every day, sometimes it starts performing for the audience. Cigarettes seem to love a spotlight. I’ve thought of plenty of other subjects for the blog. There are always more adventures and anecdotes about Whiskey Kitty, who seems to live...

This afternoon I woke up late. Really late. About 1:30 pm. I was shocked I had slept that long. The room had that strange quiet feeling you get when the day has already started without you. Even stranger was Whiskey Kitty. She looked completely worn out, stretched across the corner like she had just finished an all-night shift at some underground cat nightclub. Her fur was a mess, her eyes were bugged out, and she was shaking a little like a hipster coming down from a rave party. I have no idea what kind of adventures she had while I...

Today started the usual way: Whiskey Kitty wrestling my hand like it was a small pink octopus trying to escape captivity. She hugs it, loses her grip, grabs again, and repeats the process with the seriousness of a tiny martial-arts master. For her, it’s training. For me, it’s the morning alarm clock. After that ritual, I ordered my tea and headed to an appointment with my psychiatrist. The visit was pretty straightforward. The doctor noted that I’m depressed. That wasn’t exactly breaking news. Depression has been hanging around lately like a houseguest who forgot the concept of leaving. He offered...

So it turns out Whiskey Kitty wasn’t sulking in that corner after all. She was simply parked in the sun like a tiny, furry solar panel, soaking up warmth where the light hit the floor. Cats have a very practical philosophy about life: if there’s a beam of sunlight, occupy it immediately. No drama, no overthinking, just pure sun-powered contentment. Unfortunately, humans are not quite that efficient. My main concern today isn’t Whiskey Kitty or where she chooses to nap. It’s the strange parade of nightmares marching through my sleep lately. They all seem to revolve around the same theme:...