Yesterday morning, my bodily needs caused me to stumble to the washroom at five o'clock. Of course, I noticed Mr Rocks lurking about and assumed that he was waiting for his six o'clock feeding of tuna. Thought I: what the heck, I'll take him downstairs now. Truthfully, I had been sleeping poorly and was just as happy to be out of that cursed bed for a stretch.
As cat and human made to descend the stairs, I heard Cuppa calling from the bedroom. She had already fed him. I stared perplexedly: how odd for us both to decide to feed the guy well before his usual time! Her explanation surprised me: "Your moaning and groaning woke us both up."
In the middle of the night, I had moved to the guest bed in hopes that I might rest better over there. It didn't work; nevertheless, I was unaware of vocalizing loudly enough to awaken both human and beast from a bedroom across the hall.
You see, not only have I been feeling rather terrible because I am miserable in body, but my supposed rest is also troubled by repetitive dreams: stupid repetitive dreams. They go on and on and on. I get on some sort of theme, and it won't quit. I change beds, roll over and over, anything to shake it up, but it persists. It's not a bad dream — just stupid — and totally aggravating in its unceasingness. It drives me crazy! And so, we all got up and headed down for morning victuals. I tried to force something down, but all I could tolerate was milk and two arrowroots. By rights, I should be svelte by now.
It was a hard day. I was very emotional: felt like bursting into tears. Don't ask me why; this illness (or whatever the heck it is) has been an odd voyage. Apart from the silly night dreams described above, there are the daytime visions. if I begin to nod off during the day, it's as if I begin to hallucinate. Scenes flash before me, and they seem real. I can still describe yesterday's scenes and today's, and I don't often remember dreams. Although I am somewhat aware of where I truly am and that I am dreaming, they are so real that I have, nevertheless, reached out to attempt to grab an object that was nearby in my dream vision. (Aside: I wonder if religious visions might not come from sources like this?)
It's all been rather vexing. I think I am now on the path to recovery, but it's more like a precipitous, narrow mountain path, I'm afraid: hardly an expressway to the Promised Land. In fact, I've been put on another seven days of antibiotics. Oh glory!
The one cheery moment from bleak yesterday was enjoyed upon finding the following picture taped to my computer. Sometime during or shortly after our early morning breakfast (milk and Arrowroots for me — yum), I moaned to Cuppa in my most forlorn voice that "it's not easy being me." When I found this taped to my computer shortly after, I laughed — a genuine and good laugh. It's from O's latest edition.