Chemotherapy.

I don't feel like telling you any gambling stories today. The sun is shining, the unreasonably loud construction outside of my apartment has ceased, and I feel good. I am eating healthier foods and taking better care of myself. I don't know why.

Part of it is simple. I'm so tired of gambling. I can finally see a way to where the pursuit of action won't be irresistible. I really can. Mostly because I'm just flat exhausted. But that's where I have to stop. Because if I continue this thread, it's only trouble for me. Trouble because I start to realize that I have nothing with which to replace the monkey on my back, except maybe for a new monkey. (Alcohol? Drugs? Hookers? Greasy foods? I don't know, what else are people addicted to?)

I'll make it as plain as I can: I have thus far been successful in making the idea of gambling utterly undesirable to me. That alone seems like a worthy achievement. But concomitant with that success is my realization that nothing else in life is all that desirable to me, either. It's as if -- in my haste to eradicate the gambling disease from my heart, my soul, my nervous system, whatever -- I've gone ahead and deadened everything -- including my ability to fathom that I live in a world from which I might derive enjoyment.

So you tell me which is worse.