Tag: sick of being sick

Last night they shanghaied me back to the hospital and shoved me into an unlit room, couldn’t see a thing. No call button to press. No light fixture. I yelled for help, louder and louder, but nobody came (“‘Cause no one would’ve come if I’d yelled ‘Chocolate!'” –The Smothers Brothers).

First I sleepwalked, then fell back on the bed. It struck me that this was way too big to be a regular hospital bed. When I finally did get the shade up, it looked like my neighborhood outside. Then, shambling around in the dark, I found a door and opened it.

Eureka! I cautiously went down the stairs, hoping to wake my wife so she could tell me what was going on. There we were in our living room. The clock read midnight.

Okay, it was a dream–a frightfully convincing one. It certainly took me a while to realize that it was a dream. If you have a nightmare set in Macbeth’s Castle, that’s bad enough.. But when the monster’s already in your bedroom, then you’ve got a problem.

Gonna take me a while to get my head straightened out.