On Dreams

My sleep was somewhat restless last night. I thought I was getting over a cold, not catching a cold. Today I feel worse than I did yesterday. The nasal passages feel phlegmy, the head swims. Cold medicine I won’t touch–it makes me wired, jittery, and vaguely loopy. Fortunately, I scheduled myself for a late shift today–I slept until ten, and it was nice. A steady diet of orange juice may do the trick. And aspirin.

I remember my dreams from last night. That’s uncommon–I usually don’t remember my dreams. I blame my general feeling of illness and malaise. I’m reminded of Prince George in Blackadder III‘s “Duel and Duality”–“My dreams were filled with strange omens and ill portents” or some variation thereof. Issues in the subconscious I would rather neither confront nor acknowledge coming to the fore, I think.

Plans for tomorrow–sleep, the laundromat, and lunch with a colleague. He called me yesterday, said he needed a sympathetic ear, so I offered to meet with him tomorrow.

Shave, shower, and off to work!

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