Up in smoke?

So today is Day 3 of no cigarettes. I think I am doing really well since I've gone without the nicotine patches as well. You are supposed to wear a fresh patch every 24 hours, but after the first patch on Thursday evening, I haven't worn any.

I will admit to fantasizing about cigarettes now and then, especially after meals. Last night for instance, after a really good meal of pork, baked potatoes, cabbage-with-bacon and baked pumpkin; all with a glass of beautiful red wine, I really wanted a cigarette.

But I didn't have any and started knitting instead. This is my first, proper knitting project. The last and only time I've knit was when I was 14... it was a scarf that was eventually completed by mom. This time it's a jumper for Partner. He has promised that even if it is yucky and cannot be worn out, he will wear it at home. I am happy. I've completed the back and will attack knit the front, arms and the neck.

I have no bloody clue how to knit the neck -- remember my mom using four knitting needles and it looking very technical -- but I'll figure out something. Partner's mom was very amused that I was not using a 'pattern' -- a book to tell me when I have to pick/drop stitches. I was very amused because I was doing it the old-fashioned Indian way: Make Partner stand with arms stretched out and measure it against him. :)

Have a nice Sunday (or whatever day it is, wherever you are)
How nicotine patches help quit smoking: Here

To do do. Tu du du.

Sorry for the sudden break in writing. It's that time of the year again. The time when uni assignments start piling and up 'to do' lists really don't make sense.

The more I seem to have on my to-do list, the lesser I seem to do anything. Priorities get confusing because something else on the list -- usually the least important task -- suddenly starts looking more appealing.

Pending deadlines are also the reason for some rather bizarre nightmares. Like last night. I kept dreaming of samosas in different situations.

In one where there was a samosa that I just could not bite into. It kept escaping my maw. The more I tried to bite it, the farther it went... Or the other one where each time a raw samosa was dropped in a cauldron of hot oil -- it's deep fried after all -- it would not resurface. I would keep waiting expectantly for a nice, deep fried, samosa-with-crispy-bits to bob up in the oil and it wouldn't. I love crispy bits in a samosa. (drool)

Then there was the dream where I am at a Melbourne book-signing -- not mine, I was the reporter -- and they had samosas for snacks. Only they were the fraud, frozen samosas they are selling these days. Y'know the ones that are all flat, have no taste and look uncooked? I really don't understand samosas that can be made in the microwave. If it ain't deep fried, it ain't no samosa. I refuse to have something so tasty being labelled health food. Anyway.

So in the dream they serve these samosas and I throw a fit and call them frauds... Only that the book signing was organised by a big-time publisher. The publishers, other authors and literary agents get really upset with and I am barred from all literary/book circles and I become a literary (literal?) pariah.

No, I am not pregnant and have no idea why I've had three dreams of samosas on the same night. If you have any clues, please let me know.

PS: Day one-and-a-half of nicotine patch and no cigarettes. Melbourne's getting really cold. But I am not in Melbourne. And I also saw my first, bona fide gold-rush 'town'. Very spooky.

Pic courtesy: Sparklette