Ahem Meyham, Where Is My Catalyst?

Quitting smoking is like living without punctuation.  I'm not talking about the convenient absence precipitated by the advent of texting.  Oh no! I wish my lack of interval was a matter of efficiency and convenience.  Instead, my days feel like more of a run-on sentence with no end in sight.
A plottless streaming volubilithon.  Forilla.

I need to form a new segue. Chokers used to catalyze my efforts and now I have a wall to jump over every time I switch tasks. And that is a frequent occurrence when you have an attention span of a moth.

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