To everyone who sent me well wishes yesterday, thank you! It’s not often I hear, “Get well soon!”, and it’s always good to get cheered up when you feeling bad. I spent the day resting and sweating out the cold, and didn’t think about opening up my story because I couldn’t sit at the computer for more than a few minutes at a time. Writing would have been a wasted endeavor, and it’s better to try and play catch up this week than to have tried to make a go at writing when I was half out of my mind with the flu.
Everything is just about back to normal, other than the fact that I feel like I’ve run a race, and there is a constant ringing in my right ear, probably from all the coughing yesterday. But the strangest part is still with me:
My half-awake dreams.
Whenever I get the flu and it finally starts to break, it’s as if I have no off button on my stream of conciseness. When I was dozing in my chair in front of the television I’d catch myself mumbling things. I have no idea what, but I know I was in a state of semi-sleep, and I was sort of talking. Then once I’m in bed, it’s all about my thoughts running at high speed, like they all have to be somewhere in a big hurry.
I’ve always wondered why this happens, and why I get hooked up on some rather unusual thoughts. The time I remember the most was waking up, sweating and shivering like crazy, and more or less hallucinating that I was going through the landing checklist for a C-130 cargo plane prior to setting it down on a beach. Sometimes I’ve had phrases or songs get caught in a loop, and hear that spoken over and over for what seemed like hours. I was told a couple of times that I didn’t just mumble in fever dreams, but that I’d hold conversations with people.
Last night was pretty much the same. I was off on mind trips of things happening with color wheels, and discussing fictional characters as if they were people sitting in the room with me. For a while I was working on a check list for something–never figured it out, however. It was just a checklist and nothing more. And I had a conversation with someone I knew, but haven’t seen in a while, about kids and weather and books.
All of that happened in the three hours between the time I went to bed, and when I got up to check the time. It’s felt like most of the night was behind me–wrong. It hadn’t even started.
When you’re delirious, the mind doesn’t know how to stop, and the fences that normally keep things in are nowhere to be seen, so thoughts come at you like snow falling from the sky. You can’t stop them: all you can do is let them fall and wonder how wet you’ll get.
If it wasn’t for the fact you feel so miserable before this happens, I’d suggest it happen more often.