Note dated January 1995
I woke up one morning with a sense of horror “what if, in my previous life as a woman, I was a smoker?” The idea seems abhorrent! I don’t like smoking as rule. I don’t smoke. My mother never smoked as far as I know, and I was tolerant of my father smoking. Even today, whenever I go down to the pub, it isn’t smoking that upsets me – it is the smell of the ashtrays that causes my breathing difficulties. Also, I tend to feel sick whenever I see fag ends stubbed out on a dinner plate or ashtrays awash with spilled beer.
Somehow, to me, when a woman smokes she loses grace, she looks nervous and bitchy. I often look at a beautiful woman and lose all admiration as soon as I see her smoking.
I have never thought it possible for me to ever accept that I could smoke, despite suggestions that smoking marijuana is known to destroy the harmful fungi in an asthmatic’s lungs. This objection without even the idea “the heavy marijuana smokers have been known to develop breasts” is not attractive despite a strong fascination for the idea that a man can develop breasts.
I would welcome regression to my former self as a woman, but I may come to terms with myself as a smoker!
End of the document dated January 1995
This post is contributed as a Guest post by Honeysuckle Pear.
About the author:
‘Honeysuckle Pear’ is a pen-name for the author who is extremely shy. The submission ‘Past lives present issues’ is non-fiction and is one of many notes written after sessions with a hypnotherapist. Honeysuckle was born with chronic Asthma, which turned out to be a misdiagnosis; MRI discovered the problem was Bronchiectasis.
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