Thought Facebook and Twitter were just places to be fed Russian propaganda?
Nope.
They also have mind-expanding tests, like “What 80s TV Star Are You?” “What Superhero Are You?” and “What Toxic Household Cleaner Are You?”
For the record I’m Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge, Batman, and Easy-Off Heavy Duty Oven Cleaner Aerosol Spray.
As an aside, it’s important to note that Batman is not a superhero because he possesses no super powers. He is in top physical condition, is extremely intelligent, and has billions of dollars’ worth of high-tech gadgetry at his disposal, but he is not a metahuman.
However, the Dark Knight was an option in the “What Superhero Are You?” test, so I’m proud to wear the cape and cowl.
Anyway, I saw one out there called “What Do Your Dreams Really Mean?” and it mentioned how some us have recurring dreams about things such as losing teeth, flying and running.
I honestly don’t recall losing teeth in a dream because, frankly, I rarely dream about going to the dentist, but I have taken flight and done my share of hauling ass while snoozing.
What the test didn’t address, though, was smoking.
I dream more, by far, about smoking cigarettes than anything else. And it all started once I stopped smoking.
I used to be a hardcore smoker, and by “hardcore smoker” I mean I took the opportunity to smoke pretty much whenever I was awake.
I would smoke in the shower … I kid you not. The cigarette didn’t stay lit for long, but every puff was worth it.
I would trample children and senior citizens leaving movie theaters in my effort to race outside the building and fire one up.
I would take my dog for a walk in the middle of the night just to have an excuse to go outside and smoke – even when I didn’t have a dog.
It was a serious problem.
However, I quit on June 10, 2010, and haven’t fallen off the wagon once.
But …
There is rarely a week that goes by when cigarettes don’t wind up in my dreamscape. There are studies that suggest people who have recently quit occasionally have such “visions,” but eight years out?
Damn, they must’ve made quite an impact on me.
In my most recent one, I was at a party at a large house and had left my cigarettes in the car.
I remember opening the door, reaching in and grabbing a pack of Kool Milds off the passenger seat.
I took a cigarette, placed it on my lips, lit it up, and inhaled.
I swear, I could almost taste it. The blue smoke spiraling toward the sky like a genie that had just escaped its bottle remains remarkably vivid.
It happens all the time.
Sometimes during the course of a dream, I’ll just casually light up; it’s merely a character trait. Other times, I know the cigarettes are missing and I’m compelled to track them down.
And when I wake up and realize I don’t smoke, I’m repulsed … I even feel slightly guilty.
I mean, I don’t miss the taste or smell at all when I’m awake. Both are gross to me now. But there’s something in my subconscious that refuses to let go.
It makes you wonder.
Are dreams, in fact, merely glimpses into a parallel universe?
And in that parallel universe, do I have to buy cigarettes or are they provided for me as part of a government program?
Is smoking allowed in theaters? (If so, children and old people will be much safer because I’ll have no compelling reason to trample them).
Surely not.
I’m inclined to think the appearance of cigarettes after I go nite-nite is just one of those random dream things that will never be explained.
I’ve seen all sorts of weird things behind the walls of sleep, including but not confined to: former Night Court star Harry Anderson playing whack-a-mole at Chuck E. Cheese’s; the New York Jets winning another Super Bowl; Gal Gadot calling and asking if she could come over and play Yahtzee; the original Ramones opening for Celine Dion; Donald Trump and Paul Ryan performing a duet of “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” at Coachella; people with giant heads attempting to sell me term life insurance; and being bludgeoned with frozen fish sticks (Mrs. Gorton’s, to be precise) by a gang of ne’er-do-wells.
Some of my dreams are outlandish and others frighteningly real, but regardless, cigarettes manage to at least make a cameo appearance in many of them.
Fortunately, they can’t do a lot of damage to me while I sleep, so I need to just stop worrying about it. As long as I’m smoke-free in the real world, I’m in good shape.
It’s that bloodthirsty mob wielding frozen fish sticks I should probably be most concerned with.
