I haven’t had a cigarette in five weeks.

A couple of weeks ago I had a dream in which I smoked a cigarette but felt terrible, tremendous, overwhelming guilt after and the cig itself was roughly akin to being trapped in a burning building: scalding air, breathless, encased in smoke. Since then I’ve paid closer attention and realized that I still smoked in my dreams.

This week that changed. While having a dream about some crisis or another I dreamt that I had a nicotine lozenge – what I used for two days after I quit smoking to help land on my feet – rather than a cigarette. So, it’s official: I’ve even quit smoking in my dreams.

Crazy, eh?