I could have stayed at work yesterday, but there wasn’t anything I absolutely had to get done that would keep me there. Besides, God invented sick days specifically so I wouldn’t have to stay at work when I feel lousy. I stayed until noon to take care of some normal Monday chores, and headed on home.
The wife and I are complete opposites when it comes to being sick versus injured. I could lose and arm and, as long as I don’t have a headache or sniffles, I’ll come to work and make do with one hand. Even at the worst of my back troubles (surgery 10 years ago helped immensely) I would go in unless I just could not move. But if I’m feeling the least bit under the weather, I whine and complain and hope someone will tell me to stay (or go) home. I’m the worst “sick” person in the world, and woe to anyone who has to look after me. (Think of Sheldon Cooper in that one episode of The Big Bang Theory.)
The wife, on the other hand, has gone to work when she was so sick I thought I might have to take her to the emergency room. She whines about it too, but won’t lose any work over it. I still wind up doing everything for her at home, and she makes sure I know just how awful she felt, but she’ll put in a full 8 hours, and overtime if they’ll let her, regardless. But let her get even the smallest owie and she’s ready to make an appointment with the doctor to have it looked at. Vive la differences, right?
Anyway, I got home yesterday, took a big shot of Nyquil, rubbed one out, then tried reading for a bit. Soon the words were too jumbled to make sense, so I put the book aside and drifted in and out of consciousness for the next three hours. I woke up in time to start dinner (bratwursts) that I didn’t feel like eating, but as I woke up I felt marginally better than earlier.
I took a Benadryl around 7, then at 8 I took another big shot of Nyquil. That combination plus three beers had me ready for bed by 9, and I was out like a light. Except I woke up just about every hour having to use the bathroom (the Benadryl does that to me).
Somewhere in there I had a weird but pleasant dream. In it I was still living at home, as were my oldest two sisters. It was like we were kids again, and the setting would have been back when I was in the 10th grade, but we were all adults. I was talking to a girl I really liked back then, Ruthie, who was the first girl I ever kissed. I don’t remember the exact dream conversation, but we were talking about finding some place to “make out”, though it was clear we both meant to have sex. In my mind there was the disparity between being a kid in the dream (talking about sneaking into my room) and an adult (not wanting her to know I was still living with my mom and stepfather.)
I said something, probably meaning to be flirty, and Ruthie smiled. When she did she turned into L and I was instantly an adult again, and we were talking about where we could go to have some privacy. I woke up before anything could happen.
I hadn’t thought about Ruthie in quite a while, certainly not in that way. Our first kiss was our only kiss, and though she acted like she wanted to date me, it never worked out. She was cute, with raven-black hair and big boobs, and had plenty of better prospects to choose from than me. A friend of ours that the wife and I hang out with from time to time was Ruthie’s best friend in school, and tells me now that she has really fallen apart over the years, mentally and physically. She says I wouldn’t recognize her now if I saw her, which is kind of sad.
The wife and I are complete opposites when it comes to being sick versus injured. I could lose and arm and, as long as I don’t have a headache or sniffles, I’ll come to work and make do with one hand. Even at the worst of my back troubles (surgery 10 years ago helped immensely) I would go in unless I just could not move. But if I’m feeling the least bit under the weather, I whine and complain and hope someone will tell me to stay (or go) home. I’m the worst “sick” person in the world, and woe to anyone who has to look after me. (Think of Sheldon Cooper in that one episode of The Big Bang Theory.)
The wife, on the other hand, has gone to work when she was so sick I thought I might have to take her to the emergency room. She whines about it too, but won’t lose any work over it. I still wind up doing everything for her at home, and she makes sure I know just how awful she felt, but she’ll put in a full 8 hours, and overtime if they’ll let her, regardless. But let her get even the smallest owie and she’s ready to make an appointment with the doctor to have it looked at. Vive la differences, right?
Anyway, I got home yesterday, took a big shot of Nyquil, rubbed one out, then tried reading for a bit. Soon the words were too jumbled to make sense, so I put the book aside and drifted in and out of consciousness for the next three hours. I woke up in time to start dinner (bratwursts) that I didn’t feel like eating, but as I woke up I felt marginally better than earlier.
I took a Benadryl around 7, then at 8 I took another big shot of Nyquil. That combination plus three beers had me ready for bed by 9, and I was out like a light. Except I woke up just about every hour having to use the bathroom (the Benadryl does that to me).
Somewhere in there I had a weird but pleasant dream. In it I was still living at home, as were my oldest two sisters. It was like we were kids again, and the setting would have been back when I was in the 10th grade, but we were all adults. I was talking to a girl I really liked back then, Ruthie, who was the first girl I ever kissed. I don’t remember the exact dream conversation, but we were talking about finding some place to “make out”, though it was clear we both meant to have sex. In my mind there was the disparity between being a kid in the dream (talking about sneaking into my room) and an adult (not wanting her to know I was still living with my mom and stepfather.)
I said something, probably meaning to be flirty, and Ruthie smiled. When she did she turned into L and I was instantly an adult again, and we were talking about where we could go to have some privacy. I woke up before anything could happen.
I hadn’t thought about Ruthie in quite a while, certainly not in that way. Our first kiss was our only kiss, and though she acted like she wanted to date me, it never worked out. She was cute, with raven-black hair and big boobs, and had plenty of better prospects to choose from than me. A friend of ours that the wife and I hang out with from time to time was Ruthie’s best friend in school, and tells me now that she has really fallen apart over the years, mentally and physically. She says I wouldn’t recognize her now if I saw her, which is kind of sad.
I love Nyquil influenced dreams...
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