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So, a follow-up on yesterday’s backslide. I did buy a little marijuana and have been smoking it here and there. I talked it over with a few followers of the blog, and we all landed in the same place: this doesn’t count as a slip. Cigarettes are still the villain in this story. Compared to tobacco, cannabis isn’t the dragon I’m trying to slay, so I’m not resetting the quit date. The mission remains the same. Smoke-free from cigarettes. Period. One of the big reasons people turn to weed these days is sleep. And sleep has been my lifelong frenemy....

Whiskey has officially entered her interior design phase. At some point today, without a permit or a Pinterest board, she constructed herself a chair out of boxes in the room. Not a bed. Not a fort. A chair. She sat there like a tiny project manager overseeing the household, ears up, eyes alert, satisfied with her work. Minimalist. Recyclable. Very on-brand. Mom was settled into her recliner, reading one of her mystery novels and playing solitaire. She’s been number one several times now, which I still don’t fully understand but deeply respect. There’s something comforting about the quiet competition between...

My mother’s cat, Herbie, has perfected the gentle art of affection. He climbs onto her lap while she’s in the recliner, bows his head like a tiny monk, and lets mom kiss it. A peaceful ritual. Very Norman Rockwell. Very “this is how love is supposed to look.” Naturally, I wanted the same thing from Whiskey. What I got instead was teeth. Whiskey doesn’t bow her head. She lunges. She nibbles. She play-bites. She treats affection like a contact sport. For a while, I thought, well, that’s that. She’s not Herbie. She’s her own strange little creature, operating by a...

Today wasn’t dramatic, but it was real. One of those days that quietly tests you without making a big announcement. I did some housecleaning. Actual cleaning, yes, but also the other kind. The kind where you look around and realize that recovery isn’t just about not smoking, not drinking, not using. It’s about order. Structure. Clearing space so your mind doesn’t trip over yesterday’s mess. When things are cleaner around me, things feel calmer inside me. It’s not magic. It’s maintenance. Recovery still feels like a trial sometimes. Not a courtroom spectacle, more like a long bench trial where the...

A new year showed up this morning like a clean sheet of paper. No eraser marks. No excuses scribbled in the margins. Just space. So here it is, plain and honest. This year, I resolve to stay smoke free. Not because it sounds noble. Not because it looks good written down. But because every smoke-free day has quietly proven it’s possible. One day stacks on another, and before you know it, the habit starts to feel like an old story I don’t need to reread. The second resolution is just as important. I resolve to take good care of Whiskey...