The mad scientist that lives in the attic at the top of my head has had his chemistry set out again. I can hear the bubbling and spluttering and occasionally there's a little explosion from in there, black steam and a funny smell. Yesterday was seriously grim. I very almost deleted this entire blog for no reason whatsoever. Wanton destruction, I think. I went into My Documents and instead purged a load of a hundred or so files instead. Kind of hoping it was all trash anyway...
By mid-afternoon I was in that awful numb state where you can't feel anything. This is nasty, I haven't felt like that in years. When you literally can't taste anything and you play a piece of beautiful music which usually has you bawling your heart out and nothing, completely cold. Horrible feeling. Dangerous feeling. I had been fine on Saturday. I think.
A rather troubled night, all sorts of bizarre dreams (deeply regret watching Pan's Labirynth with my head not firmly screwed on). Then this morning I woke up with my beloved alarm-clock leaning over me with his arms around me, and it felt like he had there and then just dragged me up out of whatever I had been drowning in. Really I was just getting my wake-up hug, which I frequently sleep through.
And I felt miles better, completely better. Euphoric, in fact.
And then I tried to sit up.
Among all manner of other nonsense, I had been dreaming about a gigantic woman who had sat on me by accident. I was rather embarrassed because this woman was huge, she was fantastically fat, bigger than anybody ever is in real life, about ten foot tall as well and looking like something out of a Terry Gilliam animation. And she had accidentally sat down on top of me and I really didn’t want to say anything or draw attention to myself in any way because I knew she would be terribly embarrassed if I did. So I politely allowed myself to be squashed. As you would.
Which probably says more about what my body was up to than my psyche, as it hurt. A lot. It still hurts. And I still feel altogether rather fragile, a little blue and very tired.
So perhaps it is something viral. Or some Lurgy event that won't make any sense. I have decided, reassured myself that what I felt yesterday must have been something like that; I was getting rather down about my book, but even I don't take it that seriously. Nothing worth jumping from a great height for, not by a long chalk.
Stupid, stupid brain.
Ahhh! I'm so, so sorry that you had to go through that. Feeling empty and gone is just the worst, but I can't imagine what it would be like to feel it so suddenly-as you did.
Glad to hear it's over. I don't know what the brain is thinking, sometimes.
of all the bodily bits that can bugger about, the brain is the worst.
I've had a really similar few days. Tears and tantrums and all I can tell poor Steve is that there's no reason for it at all... or completely go off on one at him.
I'm hoping it's because of something daft like the weather changing.
What the hell did you eat?
I have come to realise that the reason so much processed food is available is that good natural unchemcially processed low sugar food makes you (1) Not need laxitives (2) High asa kite (3) Makes for fantastic dreams.
That said I have been going through a stage of comming to terms with reduced mobility and thought I was doing extremely well at coping, as I think I do! and the problems I am having are nothing new, they happen now and again then.
It passes and I can walk again what the hell was I worrying about?
So the other night, as with your dream. I found myself, vividly, realistically, half way across a very busy road and my hips stopped working completely my "brainicky bits simply would not make my legs and feet work anymore.
At that point I must have been run over! because I woke in terror.
Shh must not tell anybody said Christpher Robin.........
However as much as I try and move on and go "awe you silly bugger forget it" my brain thing keeps it vividly stored.
So JUST IN CASE! I have been taking it very quietly the last few weeks and HOPING that the dream, premonition, autowarning or whatever it was does never come true.
As for being sat upon by an extremely large Woman, seems you have safer dreams than I lassy!
Once agin the word verification seems to knowotiwrit
Kisses to you! I had the same feelings on Sunday. Only a really good icee could break my funk. Glad to hear you are feeling like you again.
Hope you're doing better.
I loved Pan's Labyrinth, but I do wish someone had warned me it's no Princess Bride. I can handle fantasy violence, but realistic WWII stuff bothers me.
Yet another long distance hug!! Hope you are better now. That dream sounds awful.
The mind is a monkey, said Private Joker. At least you didn't act on the impulse to delete your blog. I've had that one myself, it's all part of the "I'm going to die, we are all going to die and this computer and this room and the earth itself crumble away into dust."
Kenneth Williams's last recorded words before he killed himself: "Oh, what's the bloody point?"
I hope you are coming up out of it now, survivor that you are; you seem to be.
I've never been lucky enough to have dreamed of being sat on by a woman of any size, although I do remember waking up yelling my head off after I dreamed a huge jellyfish thing came out of the wardrobe and got me. (That was after watching The Stone Tape.
Hang in there tiger.
I think that particular lurgy/bug may be going around, as there is a somewhat downtrodden and downbeat air in our home today also. It radiates through walls and, like you, has infected the dreams.
I don't much like it.
There must be something in the air.
Lady Bracknell's blog also came within an inch of being deleted last night.
(On the grounds, you understand, that it is all complete rubbish, and that no-one in their right mind could possibly derive any entertainment from it.)
On the subject of weird dreams, if you haven't dreamed about Pop Larkin bending over to prune his roses wearing a mini-skirt and yellow slingbacks, you haven't lived. Or something.
I'm pleased you're feeling a bit better.
Editor: Dear God.
Not wanting to offer analysis, not being qualified, but I think in some peoples' physiology, there can be a mind/physical stuff mixed up, so that when physically bad, it - the virus/bug/illnes, is played out by entities, actors if you like, in the mind. I am befuddled at the mo. so not making much sense pulling the thoughts out into words.
So glad that it was not deleted and, indeed, is shared here. Hugs.
Lady Bracknell's right that something must be going around. My blog comes dangerously close to deletion at least once a week; you're certainly not alone in that. :) For the record I'm glad that you haven't gone through with it. I enjoy your writing very much; more to the point, I think you've built up an important body of work in this blog. People need to see the things you say here-- not only those living with disability, but those who might not give the issues you discuss much thought otherwise. I'd hate to see all that disappear.
I know what you mean about liking yourself better when you're writing fiction, and about letting yourself be distracted when you're not feeling good about the work, or simply can't work. I've been in a similar sort of hole with my book, on and off, for the last six years (at least four of which found said book sitting at the bottom of a dark filing cabinet while I let myself be distracted and despondent). It's not an easy thing for a writer to pull out of, especially when-- I think I may have said this to you before, at some point-- that writer spends a lot of time working (or being distracted, in my case) in isolation. I've found that talking to and working with other writers can sometimes help buoy me out of the hole-- have you thought about having someone else give your manuscript a read? Easier said than done, I realise! But sometimes it helps to have an outside reader offer reassurance to the effect that one's work isn't actually crap.
I've never read your fiction, but judging by the quality of writing in this blog, I cannot fathom its being anything remotely like crap. I don't know if it will help, but I did read something the other day about what Rachmaninoff's psychiatrist used to say to him at the beginning of every session: You will write your Concerto. ... You will work with great facility. ... The Concerto will be of excellent quality. I'll assert the same about your novel.
A writer friend and I have been working together on and off for some time-- and whinging, and distracting each other; sometimes that helps, too. You're welcome to pop over any time and join us in the whinging and distracting. Or if you ever just want to talk shop. :)
Oh Goldfish, what a bad episode. I really hope you're feeling better. Deleting one's blog is sometimes tempting when darkness envelops, but the best thing is to sit tight and let it pass. As it always does.
BTW, you just got the prize for the most complex word verification I've encountered yet. It was more like a sight test. Crikey! Another one. Avawab?
Thanks everyone, your support is so helpful to me. :-)
Hmm. Maybe someone needs to mirror Diary of a Goldfish lest an unfortunate episode see the world lose this excellent resource.
"Funny times" can cause loss of valuable data, and I speak from experience. Back your stuff up (that which you can) to CD/DVD and have a copy out of the house with friends/family. That way, even the most destructive urges (trashing the backups as well as what's on the machine) has a means of recovery. Just don't do what I did and password-protect that remote backup and then lose the password. Doh!
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