As of this writing I don't know if I'll be going to work tomorrow. Saturday night I came down with something and spent a little quality time in the bathroom admiring the recently cleaned toilet bowl. (oh... hey look, I missed a spot.)
Today was spent dressing warmly and trying to sweat it out with moderate success. My tummy is still not happy with me. How does that saying go? Feed a fever and starve a cold? Symptoms include nauseous stomach, clammy skin, sensitivity to light and Barry Manilow music. Although that may explain the nausea...
I'll say this: my arms haven't fallen asleep all day. Usually in the morning, my fingers and hands will start to tingle. I switch off hands while driving in an effort not to have a full blown car accident. It all began last year when I started doing the serious loading and lifting at my work. More often than not, I awake to a hand painfully tingling or an arm that feels like it's going to fall off. For some strange reason that hasn't happened today. I can lay on my side or type this blog post and not have my fingertips go numb. Seems like a benefit, but I have to remind myself that's what it's supposed to feel like. In no way should I be grateful for something that is supposed to happen normally. Maybe the medicine I took is relaxing my muscles to the point where I can function with almost full abilities and range of motion. Which reminds me, I really ought to take some before crashing tonight.
In looking for a bright side to this, (yes, even sick I try to see the silver lining.) I'll get some really deep sleep and have some lucid dreams. It's a wonder I'm not insane. Ever since I was a kid, my dreams have been so realistic that I confused them with reality. I remember as a child having to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I'd shuffle out of my bed with my footie pajamas scratching the floor as I made my way to the bathroom to do my business, only to find out I never left my bed. And people wonder why I pinch myself before walking into a restroom nowadays... geesh!
In all seriousness, a lot of my writing comes from my dreams. When I was in the hospital, my subconscious unleashed all the demons and monsters on my waking mind, and I didn't always win. This is what I refer to as the twilight time, that space between the dream realm and the waking world. There I solved mysteries, fought malevolent creatures and survived deadly races. There was a point where I didn't want to leave the world where I played poker with diamonds or solved a murder on a luxury ocean liner. Just as my childhood dreams, I couldn't tell which one was real. There are times where I wonder if I made the right choice and decided this reality was the real one.
Let me tell you a little secret: While recovering in the hospital, my choice of realities came down to this world where I was deaf and healing from traumatic injury, and the alternate reality where I was a detective and Lucy Lawless was my sidekick. I should have gone hunting for the missing diamonds with the beautiful partner. That would be a neat idea for a story: Dream a reality and have it become real. Then having to decide if you want to live in the world you created.
Hands off that one guys, That's my next project.