Some Robitussin-induced self-analysis.
Due to the lingering phglemmy hacking cough - an after-effect of The Sinus Infection That Would Not Die - I've been overdosing on the Robitussin for the past few nights, just to get a little sleep. Mission accomplished, in fact - I've been sleeping like some sort of wood-based product and only hacking like a brain-infected seal during daylight hours, yipee.
In fact - and I'm not sure if it's from the Dextromethorphan HBr, the Guaifenesin, or the "inactive" (aka pronounceable) stuff like citric acid, FD&C red no. 40, "flavors," or corn syrup - Little Miss Insomnia here has not only been sleeping, I've been dreaming, too. Which is not something I usually indulge in, as it happens.
Anyway, last night I had not one but two dreams about moving (the packing-up house type of moving, not the wiggling-about type). In the first one, I was packing up my grandparents' house Back Home, the house I mostly lived in for most of my chldhood until my grandparents did the grandparent thing and moved to Florida when I was around 13 or 15 or so. For some undisclosed dream-reason, it was important to pack up very quickly, and it was my job to pack up stuff from the semi-finished basement - which was my playroom and where I spent a lot of time in the house. I was the age I am now (whatever that is), and while I was in the basement, there were other family members packing stuff up in the rest of the house - one of whom (not somebody I recognize as an actual family member) came downstairs (with a martini) to check on my progress. When I explained that it was going well, but I was a little teary, she (or maybe he, I'm not sure) said something about being worried about where her car was parked, and hurried out. There was lots of other fiddly little dream-stuff in there, but that was the main thrust.
So then, in Dream # 2, I was moving to England, and had somehow gone over beforehand to find a house and suss out everything. There was a bit about painting my new bedroom orange with yellow trim, and a bit about my boyfriend Kiefer Sutherland accompanying me (nb: I have no feelings whatsoever about Kiefer other than that I don't particularly like 24), and a bit about being at a meet-and-greet at a local's house which turned into a group-sing. Keifer and I not being so into the singing, this was fortunately around when I woke up.
Now I know dreams are never literal, meaning-wise. Dreaming about babies doesn't mean you're pregnant and dreaming about the ocean usually just means you have to get up and pee. And hmm, let's see, moving means I seek to move on, make changes, should be or finally am able to let go of some stuff, need to pack some things away ... I've also been idly thinking (for the past 10 years now) of moving back to London someday, not that I could ever actually do it, but I guess it's alway been there and on the top of the list of "What Would You Do If You Could Do Anything Tomorrow and Money Blah Blah Blah Weren't an Issue."
Also I should probably call my grandmother.
Anyway. Vaguely grey and slightly chilly out, and therefore a perfect day to strap on the iPod and ruminate on the G train.
In fact - and I'm not sure if it's from the Dextromethorphan HBr, the Guaifenesin, or the "inactive" (aka pronounceable) stuff like citric acid, FD&C red no. 40, "flavors," or corn syrup - Little Miss Insomnia here has not only been sleeping, I've been dreaming, too. Which is not something I usually indulge in, as it happens.
Anyway, last night I had not one but two dreams about moving (the packing-up house type of moving, not the wiggling-about type). In the first one, I was packing up my grandparents' house Back Home, the house I mostly lived in for most of my chldhood until my grandparents did the grandparent thing and moved to Florida when I was around 13 or 15 or so. For some undisclosed dream-reason, it was important to pack up very quickly, and it was my job to pack up stuff from the semi-finished basement - which was my playroom and where I spent a lot of time in the house. I was the age I am now (whatever that is), and while I was in the basement, there were other family members packing stuff up in the rest of the house - one of whom (not somebody I recognize as an actual family member) came downstairs (with a martini) to check on my progress. When I explained that it was going well, but I was a little teary, she (or maybe he, I'm not sure) said something about being worried about where her car was parked, and hurried out. There was lots of other fiddly little dream-stuff in there, but that was the main thrust.
So then, in Dream # 2, I was moving to England, and had somehow gone over beforehand to find a house and suss out everything. There was a bit about painting my new bedroom orange with yellow trim, and a bit about my boyfriend Kiefer Sutherland accompanying me (nb: I have no feelings whatsoever about Kiefer other than that I don't particularly like 24), and a bit about being at a meet-and-greet at a local's house which turned into a group-sing. Keifer and I not being so into the singing, this was fortunately around when I woke up.
Now I know dreams are never literal, meaning-wise. Dreaming about babies doesn't mean you're pregnant and dreaming about the ocean usually just means you have to get up and pee. And hmm, let's see, moving means I seek to move on, make changes, should be or finally am able to let go of some stuff, need to pack some things away ... I've also been idly thinking (for the past 10 years now) of moving back to London someday, not that I could ever actually do it, but I guess it's alway been there and on the top of the list of "What Would You Do If You Could Do Anything Tomorrow and Money Blah Blah Blah Weren't an Issue."
Also I should probably call my grandmother.
Anyway. Vaguely grey and slightly chilly out, and therefore a perfect day to strap on the iPod and ruminate on the G train.