You Can Shove Your Rights Where the Sun Don’t Shine

When I breathe in cigarette smoke, my lungs go into spasms commonly known as ‘asthma’. This causes me to have trouble breathing for a couple of hours afterwards, which – thanks to the fact that only one of my lungs can actually provide oxygen to the rest of my body, stuffs things up even more than usual and makes me damn tired. Of course, I can take medication for the asthma, but that causes my heart to go a little nuts and – guess what? – that makes me even more tired.

Strangely enough, given this small health issue, hearing smokers bleating about their ‘right to smoke’ makes me want to scream abuse at them. No matter how much I try, I fail to see how a drug addiction makes a person’s rights more important than anyone else’s right to not be injured.

Wondering what brought on this rant? My local ‘mall’ (that’s a wide, paved pedestrian strip open to the sky with shops on either side, for my international friends) is being considered for a smoking ban. Well, halle-bloody-lujah, cos I hate having to hold my breath while walking to the supermarket just so that other people can have their right to smoke. Except people are fighting it, because it’s SO UNFAIR. You can probably guess what I think about that, right?

Get the hell over it already! Your right to smoke does not outweigh my right to breathe.

Ya know, I’m thinking about fighting for my right to have sex in the mall. After all, it’s far less dangerous to other people, promotes healthy exercise, and supports the government’s call to increase our population. Seems fair, doesn’t it?

Noice or Not

I drop Bubba Boy at childcare and immediately get a phone call – the electrician who was supposed to turn up five months ago has finally been rostered correctly, or something. So he wants to come over. Bugger. There goes my relaxing morning. Instead I clean the house to the point where I’d walk in and just think, “oh, untidy” instead of running outside and puking. Then he arrives, and spends about 2 hours wandering around checking power points and other fun stuff. Our smoke alarm is, indeed, illegal.

He leaves, and I try to relax. By getting on the computer. Dumb. Hubby rings from the supermarket, and tells me he can’t find stuff. I’m a grumpy bitch by this time, and give the distinct impression that I think he’s hopeless. He’s not, although he occasionally succumbs to Male Blindness. For once, I tell him just come home, I’ll go and do the shopping he couldn’t find.

Off I wander to the bus stop. Did I mention it was raining cats and dogs? And the occasional emu. While standing there, I discovered that my umbrella had a hole in it. Come to think of it, I don’t remember coming home with it. Good. Rotten thing. I stood there for about 15 minutes. Then I spotted the bus… coming in the opposite direction. Quick explanation – the bus goes down our road, loops around a bit, then comes back up our road on the way to where I wanted to go. It going the opposite way to what I expected meant it wasn’t 15 minutes late like I’d thought… it was at least 25 minutes. Bloody hell. There are stupid, stupid reasons why these buses are always late. More on that some other time.

The bus driver asked me out. That was nice. It even managed to calm my seething rage over him jokingly telling me off for racing out in front of him and flagging him down. Apparently the sensible thing would’ve been to stay standing in the pouring rain and get more soaked and catch pneumonia and die. Whoops.

Shopping went off without a hitch, and I was back at a bus stop. The rain had stopped, though, and this one actually had a wall and a roof. The seat was only mildly wet. Woot! So I waited, and waited, and waited. I wondered whether I’d get the same bus driver, and whether he’d be grouchy at me for not having told him I was married before he got a chance to ask me out.

A woman wandered up and sat next to me. And not just any woman. This was a bogan stereotype in the making. She was even wearing leggings. She had three children with her, two asleep in a pram, one older and full of energy. The constant “Britney, don’t do that” and lack of effort in stopping Britney didn’t really irritate me. I’ve been a parent long enough to know just how nuts they can drive you. Then she lit up a cigarette. In a bus shelter. While sitting, like, 1 foot away from me.

I am tranquility. I got up and slouched against a nearby shop wall instead. Then she got up and wandered off with the three. So I went back to the bus shelter and sat down. She came back and sat next to me again. Sigh. Then she finished her smoke and stood up. An old, fat guy sat down (almost squashing her firstborn) and lit up a cigarette. BLOODY HELL.

Just another day in Bogan-ville.

Dreams of an Alternate Me

I was just talking with my husband about my dreams, and I thought it’d make an interesting blog subject.

You see, I often dream – in rather boring, everyday-life type dreams – that I smoke (I don’t, never have, highly doubt I ever will). Not much, maybe 2 or 3 cigarettes a week. Sometimes it’s just a fact that’s in the background of the dream. Sometimes I’m smoking, or thinking that I might want to cut down a little. It’s never really surreal or exciting, just… a part of life.

The other night was the same, yet provided a weird twist – in the dream, I dreamt that I was a non-smoker. And I ‘woke’ from the dream-within-a-dream and contemplated how strange it would be to have never smoked a cigarette. And then I woke from the dream, and thought: “Wow, trippy!”

I can’t help wondering if maybe there’s more to theories of alternate universes, alternate realities, than I’ve ever given them credit for. They’ve always been interesting ideas to consider, but nothing more. But these dreams are so darn mundane that I feel as though I’m catching a glimpse of an actual life. Weird, huh? But if I dream about things which will happen in the future, and things that could happen in the future if I follow a certain course… why not about a life that might’ve happened, but didn’t?