"I have a dinosaur for a pet? Totally normal! Now where did that Wolverine go..." |
And it doesn't take much to cause these dreams. I'll hear something on the news or in an article and the next thing I know, it's turned into a full-blown episode starring me and whatever happened to pass through my mind that day.
Which is how I became an addict one night.
I don't smoke. I never have, and I don't see myself ever having the urge to fill my lungs with smoke and reduce my lifespan by about 10 years. But if you'd seen me in that dream a few nights ago, you would think I was hopelessly hooked on it.
How did it all start? With a single remark someone made to me. Something along the lines of, "Smoking is more trendy in Europe than the States." Which made me go, "Huh." That was the end of it.
Until my brain decided to run with it and turn me into an addict.
"Teehee. Hey, Lefty, I've got a great idea for a prank. All we gotta do is wait until she falls asleep." |
The dream was...awful. I craved a smoke so badly that I camped out in front of a gas station all day (or night?) going through obstacle after obstacle in a desperate effort to get my hands on a single cigarette.
Of course, as is the infuriating case with all dreams, I woke up before I could achieve my goal and for one single moment afterward, I could still feel it. That throat-grabbing urge. The imagined satisfaction. The desire to get in my car and drive to the nearest store.
Thankfully, it passed and life went on and I've had more strange dreams since, but as strong as the need for a cigarette was in my dream, it has made me all the more determined never to pick up the habit. Because it's not an ordeal I want to face in the future, since I now have firsthand experience with it...err, somewhat.
And that's my anti-smoking message: nicotine addiction leads to gas station clerks threatening to beat you over the head with licorice if you ever try to use fake I.D. again, even though you graduated from high school like a decade ago.
It made a lot more sense in the dream.
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