Smoke’em if you got em’

Last night I dreamt I was sitting at a table on the Union Terrace, smoking a cigarette and reading a book. The book would keep catching on fire from the cigarette, so I had to keep putting it out. Please understand that in real life, I’ve never smoked a cigarette (although I’ve inhaled enough second-hand smoke from high school and college to like the smell of it). Sam used to smoke Swisher Sweets that smelled like cherries. But I digress. I remember feeling calm and good, relieved to be quiet and just smoking.

I’ve been trying to find moments like that in the waking world, minus the use of drugs (other than caffeine) of course. Yesterday evening I took a nap after dinner and drifted in and out of sleep as my downstairs neighbor practiced some mellow electric guitar. I spend large chunks of my life on fast-forward, which doesn’t make me special, I know. But now is good. I’ve passed that darn preliminary exam. Every day I learn a little bit more about how wonderful my fiancée is, and how absurdly lucky it is that we met and have one another. Reading my journal, I found out that I had dreamed about dating him before I even knew I liked him.

So when I dream that I need a cigarette, I figure it’s time to mellow out a bit before I actually DO need one. Becoming an adult seems to be a late-phase study to learn what you need to do to keep your body and mind happy. By now we’ve all gotten *better* at it, but I know I’m still questioning it on a daily basis.