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.
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