Not quite official since the day she ain't over; but this does mark the two-week mark for ye olde addict. It is nice to be able to carry boxes up the stairs without getting winded; and I think there were some unexpected effects such as wanting to shower every 20 minutes, and clean the house, and have some feeling of being organized.
At this point, the physical monkey is supposed to be off ye olde backside; and all that's left is the big psychological monkey. I definitely feel that monkey as a couple of times I went to reach for a cigarette and realized I didn't have any anymore and had given up smoking.
Last night I just about slept through the night for the first time since quitting. But around 5 a.m. was woken by this dream that I swear I've had before.
One of those - I'm late for a test type dreams - where I'm running up flights of stairs. I'm not sure if this school is college, high-school or what, but the stairs have mesh fencing. Everyone is already sitting down in class waiting for a teacher to hand out papers. I get to the top floor and the halls are empty. I don't remember which classroom I'm supposed to go to. As I run down the corridors I open each door and see perfectly geometrical classes of students with their hands clasped, awaiting something.
I'm trying to remember which class I'm supposed to be going to. Spanish? Algebra? History? I have no idea. To make things worse, I can't remember if I'm a student or the teacher. The only thing I know is that I have to get to one of these rooms and do something.
Finally - I open a door to a closet where there's an eraser-cleaning machine. The room is filled with chalk dust and the door slams shut behind me. The machine goes on by itself and I start suffocating on the dust. I hear knocking on the door behind. I can't talk. I want to scream out that I'm drowning in chalk dust but my mouth is too dry. I catch sight of myself in a mirror - white-faced.
The door opens behind me and I jump past this Lincolnesque figure and continue running; but now I'm leaving white footprints in the corridors. I'm running and running and soon I realize that I'm going over my own tracks. I fall to the floor and look through my bookbag. That's it. My bookbag. What books do I have. I open them up, one at a time. They're all the same book: The Anthropomorphic Arcade. But the pages are blank.
Bells are ringing. I find myself - as you do in dreams - at a registration desk on another floor where I'm asking if they have a record of me going to this school and if so what class am I supposed to be in. All stuffy old ladies thumbing through cards. Finally one them recognizes me.
Mr. Beckerman. Are you feeling alright? Why aren't you in your --
At which point I wake up.
Yes, that's day 14 for you.
