I stopped smoking almost four years ago, now. Anyone who has, will tell you of the Dream; the cold sweat in the middle of the night, the rude awakening to the fact that you’ve blown it, oh, shit, all that work down the tubes and I smoked, I did it, I smoked, damit dammit DAMMIT!!!!!

Then you realize it was a dream and drift back to troubled sleep, and the night is ruined.

I stopped smoking- not for health reasons, but because of my inner miser, being completely unwilling to cut loose 50 bucks for a carton of name brand smokes. Yeah, I rolled a while, got good at rolling out a thin butt with one hand while driving and closing the little cloth bag of Drum with my teeth and the other hand. Finally, had to give it all up. The withdrawal lasted, all told, around 4 months, and on the other side, I’d had The Dream nearly a dozen times. These days, it’s not common, but I had one last night. A mess. I worked from 8 Am to after midnight, getting a system past runoff and into production, and no sooner than my head hit the pillow I was dreaming. Thankfully, it wasn’t the one with the goat and the accordion player this time but the smoking dream will fuck you up. Heart racing, I sit up in bed, m lips still stuck to the imaginary cigarette, my fingers sill warm, taste still in my mouth. I exhale and I can practicaly smell the smoke. There is the sense of having made connection with an old friend (I loved smoking, and I always will) and then the betrayal of the work I’ve done.

Actually the dream with the goat and the accordion player is probably less troubling, all in all.