Friday, July 4, 2003

Well, that wasn't too bad

by Suw on July 4, 2003

Had a reasonable night's sleep last night, in stark contrast to the previous two. No vomiting, no explosive diarrhea, no cold sweats or hot flushes. Nice.

Had lots of dreams though, some of which seemed to involve a lot of dying. I even had a top-and-tailer, where I had a dream, then dreamt it again later on from a different perspective:

I’m in Italy, watching a street race, although instead of racing through nice, wide streets they’re racing through narrow, high-hedged and banked lanes just like you get in Cornwall. There are cars, motorbikes, pick-up trucks going all ways, and I am walking along these very same lanes trying to get to a village where I will be safe. It’s night, and every time I see the lights of a car or bike coming round the corner, I just flatten myself into the bank and hope for the best. Some cars just shoot past me, one swerves in order to avoid a motorbike and flips over, rolling just past me and sliding down the road on it's roof. It’s carnage.

Eventually I get picked up by a minibus of university friends who are following the race from a 'safe' distance, but as we're driving down the lane, suddenly we're out of control, we go through a gap in the hedge only to discover that the lane was on the edge of a cliff, and we're falling through thin air. Somehow, the driver manages to steer the minibus and we land safely on a lower part of the road, further down the cliff. I am shocked by this in the dream – how could that happen? It's impossible! We should all be dead, smashed to bits on the rocks below, instead we're not, we're alive.

Fflwff woke me up at that point, wanting to come in through my bedroom window.

When I went back to sleep I dreamt roughly the same dream, except for some reason I am now Hawkeye from M*A*S*H, and I’m being shot at. A lot. And hit – I’m bleeding from bullet wounds in my chest and abdomen, although somehow I’m still standing. So this time the minibus drives past me, but behind the minibus is a jeep, with two privates in, Blane and I can’t remember the other guy’s name now, but in the dream he had one. Blane is dead anyway. They stop and pick me up, but we decide that I’ve got to get on to the minibus. They pull up close behind it, and I clamber in over the jeep's bonnet through the back door. (Amazing how I can do all my own stunts still, so badly wounded, but then, this is a dream.) Just as I’m pulled to safety is when the now nameless private loses control of the jeep, and he and Blane leave the road. It’s they who plummet down through clear air to the rocks below, not us. I just watch in horror. It’s we in the minibus who continue down on the road to the lower part of the cliff, not them. They’re dashed to bits. I’m merely shot to shit.

Hell knows what that means. Maybe just that my current crisis, however unpleasant, at least isn’t life threatening. Quality of life threatening, yes, but even if everything that can go horribly wrong does go horribly wrong, (and experience tells me that it’s bound to) at least I’ll be alive and healthy at the end of it and still able to string words together in an intelligent manner.

Hm, I wonder what the dream I had about Kylie being my best friend meant? Or the one about me winning Roof Crawler of the Year Award (from which I learnt a possibly valuable lesson which I'm sure will come in handy one day – never abseil in socks). My head really was working overtime last night.

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