This afternoon is the beginning of a weekend that goes until Tuesday morning.
All my thoughts surrounding the next four days have a common theme. It’s called: Yeah? So what?
I am back to having pandemic dreaming.
I have intense dreams anyway; magical, adventurous, rarely upsetting. The difference now is in the plot lines, which are linear and LONG. Last night, I endured storyline where I was a postoperative hospital resident, in a semi private room, with actress Caitriona Balfe as my attending nurse.
I’m not done.
Mikeal, this guy I used to work with and haven’t seen in years, showed up with his daughter … and stayed long enough for me to use his mobile phone to have extended conversations with at least three family members. Also, very un-Mikeal-like, he was engaging and concerned (zing!).
And the details kept coming.
IV changes. Bandage changes. Ice chips. Dumb clothing. Awkward bed. My roommate was a self-centred older woman with intrusive visitors who stole my chair and suggested I move to hotel to convalesce. Mean, right?
Unless you have connections, you have to accept who they pair you up with.
At one point I woke up to check the time. It was 5:46. Not yet light, I fell back to sleep and went right into the same dream, back in a revealing hospital gown with Ms. Balfe and Mikeal.
This would be the perfect time to research family origins … except I did that already. Yep, been there, done that, with a tree that numbers in the 400s.
Learn a language? My French sentence structure is improving daily. Read an epic? Does War and Peace sound familiar? Plant? The front porch flowers are staying healthy in this heat.
There must be something … and I draw the line at learning to knit and bake bread. I leave that to the experts like my Mum.
Whatever I do, I need to figure it out in a hurry. Because I’m near ZERO excuses as to why there are still dirty dishes in the sink.