Smoking Dreams

Last night I had another smoking dream. In two months, I will had been off cigarettes for sixteen years, and yet I smoke in my dreams. Sometimes, I have quit and this is just a strange aberation; other times, I have started smoking again, but I can quit. In my dreams I smoke without addiction. That will be the day.

Everyone smoked in a scene from Carmen. Well, duh, she worked in a cigarette factory. Carmen was a sublime dramatic and musical experience, and Christina Baldwin and Bradley Greenwald were Carmen and Don Jose. The minimalist setting with an old warehouse as a backdrop, exactly conveyed the mood and the scene. The dualling pianos pounded out Bizet perfectly. I remember playing the Habanera on the piano. My music book had little illustrations, and Carmen portrayed a fiery Spanish girl with a comb in her hair, looking for all the world like a flamenco dancer, with the bull fighter and his cape in the background.

After the performance we had dessert at Harvest, and a woman in the restroom was humming the Habanera. I had a vision of all of Harvard Square breaking into song and dance on that warm rainy night. Just about anything can happen in Harvard Square. Well, maybe.

Then yesterday there were the books. For some of us, books are more temping than any drug, more desirable than any other acquisiton. Addictive. Just bring on the books.

And the smoking dream had a festival and drama and craziness that I can't remember, but I do always remember the smoking. And how wonderful it feels. My god, nicotine has a long memory and it never lets go of you.