Withdrawal

Ever have a dream so vivid that you have trouble separating it from reality when you wake up?

That's been the past week for me. I want to sleep, because awake I'm dizzy and otherwise miserable (I'll explain that later), but every time I fall asleep it's some epic journey through my subconscious that not only wakes me up instead of allowing me to solve the issue at hand, but leaves me exhausted and confused.

My ten hours in bed last night were interrupted several times (at least four or five). I will spare you the details, but at one point I was in a dystopian version of the already effed-up dream world I'd inhabited. All the houses had turned to colorless paper replicas of themselves, and I needed to save something on which my life hinged.

This afternoon, when I got tired of the dizziness and took a nap to escape, I got to attend a rave. Glowsticks and everything. I'd just begun wondering why the dance floor was so pathetically empty when I woke up yet again.

Let's backtrack: I take various medications because a doctor tells me to, and it's better than feeling suicidal. My prescriptions expired before my yearly appointment (if this sounds familiar, it is), and so I'm having withdrawal symptoms. Dizziness, nausea, "brain zaps" (that one's fun. Not.) and a long list of other unpleasantness are the center of my waking universe.

The pharmacy got me emergency refills on two of my medicines, which is why I'm able to sleep at all, but apparently that third one is pretty important. And apparently that's as much as I'm capable of writing without completely blanking out.

So one time, at the caterer I worked for, there weren't enough bow ties for all the employees, so the boss decided only the girls got to wear them, because the girls looked better in bow ties. He was right.