It’s now almost 9 weeks since we gave up smoking. I’ve not mentioned it before because it’s been such a difficult subject to talk about. We’ve done so well so far. It’s a miracle that we haven’t killed each other and amazing that we’ve hardly even argued. We should deserve a huge pat on the back. The problem is, I don’t really feel worthy.
You see, pretty much every night I dream I am buying cigarettes, hiding them and planning to smoke them secretly. Sometimes I’m choosing from rows and rows of beautifully decorated cigarette packets, sparkly, bejewelled and so tempting. Usually I don’t actually smoke in my dreams (although I have once or twice) but I do think about how wonderful it would be to feel that sensation. When I’m awake, I can’t allow myself to think those thoughts.
I wake up feeling so guilty. As a smoker, I never dreamt about smoking, now I can’t stop. Can I really call myself a non-smoker when I spend so much (unconscious) time thinking about it, planning to do it or actually doing it?
It’s a lot quieter in the hen house these days but at least it’s a bit clearer who’s in charge. We did have 6 fully grown male birds- now we have 3. The other 3 have gone to good homes. Dozy, Dee and Roger were very handsome boys and therefore much in demand. We’re left with Beaky, (front left), Mini-Me (back left) and Mungo (middle right). As far as we can tell, the girls seem happy enough with the result.
I’ve been attending a local art group (run by Corr Acla) over the last 9 weeks and the painting above was one of my projects.