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To continue the Christmas adventure of our little furry friend, we told the vet that Whiskey Kitty bites a lot. His solution caught me off guard. He suggested putting her in a crate so she’d be confined and “rely on me.” That didn’t sit right. It felt a little mean, and honestly, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, we struck a loose truce. Whiskey has free reign of the upstairs at night before I go to sleep, and during the day she’s closely supervised in various rooms downstairs. So far, so good. Or so I thought. Then...

I’ll admit it, I’ve been slacking a bit on the exercise front. Not totally abandoning it, just… misplacing it temporarily. But honestly, it feels like my support group has been getting a little ambitious with my self-improvement checklist. Let’s review the facts. I quit alcohol before I quit smoking.I quit marijuana before I quit smoking. That wasn’t accidental. That was intentional. Strategic. Tactical even. I wanted those gone, and I did it. Now the chorus has shifted. “Cut out sugar.”“Cut out caffeine.” Excuse me? You took away my Sativa.You took away my Budweiser.And now you want to come for my...

Day 70 arrived early, literally. I was up and out the door to take Whiskey to the vet for her vaccinations, both of us still a little groggy and unsure why mornings exist at all. While we were there, I asked the vet about her new favorite hobby: biting everyone she meets like she’s auditioning for a tiny vampire role. His advice was simple and practical. Get a crate. When she bites, put her in it. She’ll learn. I nodded politely, but inside I knew I couldn’t do it. I just can’t bring myself to punish the poor little thing...

Last night stretched on longer than I wanted it to. Acid reflux kept me up, staring at the ceiling while the clock did that slow, mocking crawl. Whiskey Kitty could not quite grasp why her human was not springing into action for playtime. In her mind, midnight is always a reasonable hour to chase imaginary enemies. In my body, it was very much not. I finally crawled out of bed around noon, feeling like I had been lightly toasted and then put back in the box. Mom and I headed to storage to pull some artwork for the January show....

You might be a little tired of the daily posts by now. I get it. At some point you might wonder, hasn’t he gotten over it yet? When is quitting quit? The honest answer is: not yet. And that’s exactly why I keep writing. It’s still a bit of a struggle, and being accountable to all of you actually works. Writing this down each day makes the decision real. It keeps me honest. It keeps me showing up. Quitting isn’t a single dramatic moment, it’s a long series of quiet decisions, most of them unglamorous, all of them necessary. There’s...