Okay, so maybe the seven-word story wasn't such a hit. But I had fun doing it, and maybe some of you will recognize yourselves in them!
This week my dad is having some surgery for a recurrence of bladder cancer. The last time he dealt with it, I was a closet smoker and I spent a lot of time beforehand worrying about how I was going to take care of him and not keel over myself from a nicotine fit.
So, of course, I dreamed last night that I was smoking again. I knew how I smelled, knew he could smell it, knew that the smell was probably not doing much to make him feel better (mentally because he of course hated my smoking and physically because it is a nauseating smell).
Guilt is a mighty pervasive emotion. It gets inside and sits there like an ugly scar, and eventually it just becomes part of your personal landscape and you don't think about it as much. And long after you have atoned, and or stopped the guilty behavior, the feeling will still crop up.
This morning there was a residual panic from the dream, but it's gone now. I'm thankful that I don't smoke, but I'm also thankful that I don't have to feel guilty about it anymore.