fever dreams

Got whacked with a nasty flu bug. It came on suddenly, which was weird. I woke up feeling fine and by midday thought I was having some allergic reaction or something and by three in the afternoon couldn’t lift my head off of the pillow. The feeling of bedclothes soaked with clammy sweat invaded my dreams and my dreams reciprocated by filling my waking hours with delerium. I finally showered this morning. It felt good. Julia was a wonderful nurse throughout the ordeal.

I haven’t had dreams this vivid in a long time. The dreams themselves were as mundane and predictable as if they had been written and produced for a hack television episode of my life. To recount the narrative, location, and characters would be an excersize in obviousness and false profundity yet I am tempted to so because I was so affected by them. But it was the vividness and coherence of the dream narrative that so touched me even though nothing really happened in the dream. Twelve hours later and the images are still with me.

Ironically, I quit smoking this week. Such are the wages for healthy decisions.  

5 Responses to “fever dreams”

  1. Mr. Furious (Grin)

    I am so sorry to hear you were stricken by the wondrous forces of nature as it were, oh how delirium infuses strange images upon ones mind when the body is stricken.

    I am glad to know you are back upon your feet and feeling back to your normal self as it were. (Grinning again)

    I miss talking to you , perhaps a tarot reading over a cup of Joe or tea might be in order.

    Blessings my dear friend.

  2. I’m sorry you were ill. I’m pleased you were not alone for it.

    I’m glad you quit smoking. You _really_ needed to. Stick with it. Please.

    Sorry about the tech issues the other day. It was good to hear your voice. I’ve missed it.

    Stay well.

    Peace and Good,

  3. RM-So very glad to hear from you. I miss our conversations as well; it would be a fine idea to get together for a cup of coffee and to catch up. BTW-I saw the pictures from the conference a few months back and you’re looking very well.
    It’s funny, as I get older all of my conversations with my friends seem to revolve around how we don’t talk enough anymore. Kenny, I guess you figured out why I never called you back after I lost the call on Thursday.

    I am sticking with being a nonsmoker. I realized a few weeks ago that I’m the same age my favorite uncle was when he dropped dead one fine morning of a massive coronary. He was a Chicago cop who wasn’t overweight and hadn’t smoked in years. It was devastating to me and my family. This is the year of feeling my mortality and not liking it one fraking bit. I’ve been a smoker for years, my weight has fluctuated like crazy, I’m a diabetic and I generally haven’t taken very good care of myself. It’s not like I don’t have good role models or that I was ignorant; it’s more of a self-destructive perversity than anything else. For example, when you tell me that you’re glad that I quit smoking and that I really needed to I absolutely agree and understand but there’s this thing deep inside of me that makes me want to have a cigarette that much more because of it. When people tell me that I have to quit smoking my immediate impulse is to do the exact opposite. It might actually be more effective to tell me to keep smoking, but then the nicotine neurons would just cling to that as an excuse to keep sucking down the carcinogens. It’s insanity, really, and I don’t mean that in a flip way. There’s something deep inside me that wants me dead because it drives me to commit slow suicide with fried food and Marlboros. I am trying to reach inside myself, find that thing, and strangle it. But it’s not easy. I do have hope, though. I managed to put booze behind me years ago and that stuck just fine. As I type this I am eating granola and blueberries in yogurt and am loving it.

    Just one thing to everyone else-please don’t bombard me with your uplifitng inspirational tales about how you quit smoking, or even worse, how you never smoked and jog every morning. Everyone has a unique relationship with their poisons and I’m intimate with mine. When women left me and friends betrayed me my loyal toxins were there for me. I recognize this as a crazy rant even now in the middle of it, but that’s what nicotine withdrawl precipitates and you don’t have to read this even if I feel I have to write it. Even now as I am sweating and shaking and cursing under my breath I am wondering how I was ever stupid enough to start smoking in the first place, how I could let a fourteen year old kid make a choice that I would be dealing with decades later; but then I remember the instant camaraderie of smokers huddled outside doorways and the interesting people I have shared a puff with. I don’t know. What’s done is done.
    Anyway, thanks, both you guys. I’m feeling better.

  4. Away all weekend and just now reading this, so to sum up my thoughts as reading… sorry you were so sick (that sucks!), glad you had a nurse, glad you’re feeling better, hope the dreams inspire more art (in any form), and…

    …you were there with me and for me when I quit smoking 10 years ago.

    Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

  5. Your gratitude is deeply reciprocated.

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