I took off yesterday and today from work. It turns out it was a good idea because now I am dealing with a head cold that won’t leave me be. I suppose, it’s also fortuitous then that my friends from the eastern part of the state not come in this weekend because I surely would have infected them all.
As I write this, I am sitting on my bed, covered by my sleeping bag with the portable heater going at full blast. I’m sure my affectionate but dickish cat is off meowing somewhere to be let into the room. Or meowing because she knocked over her water bottle. Again.
Anyway, this wasn’t meant to be the 55 Fridays thing today. It’s just me blithering on before I do the 55 Fridays.
I woke up composing a story in my head. As all half-dreams go, this was touched by the macabre. My arm, riddled with sizable holes was oozy, not bloody but clear liquid. I my stomach bottom out as I examined the holes in my arm. The other half of me, noting clinically what I saw.
That was my dream the other night, by the way. I suppose, I should say that I wanted to be a doctor for the longest time, until I finally figured out that no, that wasn’t me. It didn’t make my parents happy, but oh, well. Medicine, while very useful, was not the occupation for me.
I remember being in a room at my mother’s university where a cadaver was half dissected by the med students. I knew – on a subconscious level – from the revulsion and my desperate need to be out of the room that I wasn’t going to become a doctor. I was ten. I wished I confronted it earlier than eight years later and in college. It would’ve saved me much grief.
But, such is life.
I hope y’all have a great Friday, one marked not with colds and sickness but with joy and happiness. At least here in the Northern Hemisphere, that spring is *finally* coming.