Wow. Side effects. Blee.

I woke up this morning from the most vivid dream I can remember having. Although not a nightmare, in the sense that some horror was befalling me. I was in a state of terror that did not subside for the next 30mins after waking. I was in full memory of the dream while drinking my tea. It was as vivid as a real memory, it made me question the notion of reality a little bit.

Thing is, this allowed me to analyse the dream in a Freudian, no better yet Jungian way. I was at an airport and my ex-girlfriend was flying from there back to Ireland. I was giving her things to take back with her for me...as I didn't need them anymore. Then I was around the corner with another ex-girlfriend, who was giving me things to take back to Ireland for her, and at first I said no, but she guilted and basically harangued at me until I agreed to take one or two things for her. She then kept giving me more and more things to take, which  I was then in turn, foisting onto the first girl. And each time I would convince the first girl that that was all I needed her to carry...I would end up back with the other girl who would have more stuff for me to take away back to Ireland. So a new argument would ensue, that I would lose...or capitulate on, for the sake of peace. And back again to the first girl. To ask her to carry the load for me.

Eventually at the third time of asking, I arrive back to the ex-girlfriend who is about to board a flight to Ireland....she is gone. There is a message that she had to go, her flight left in an hour and twenty minutes...and sorry but she would be gone for good.

I woke up heart racing, unsure of the new reality around me. Upon checking the time on my phone, I had an hour and twenty to get where I needed to go this morning. Interesting how the old body-clock incorporated itself into the dream. Another aspect, is that my father is back tonight on a flight from Canada, along with the omni-present cloud of a world he inhabits. A world others must enter when in his company, a world others must instinctively know all the rules to, down to minutiae, a world that berates all that is different to itself...you know: an average middle aged Irishmans view of things.

Leaving this morning aside; and going back to post Saturday night. I had a total of 4 and a half beers, felt drunk and tired at that point and went to bed...approx. 1.30am. I awoke at about 4.30am with stomoch cramps, a thumping headache and feeling both exhausted but unable to sleep. I drank a pint of water, incase this was the issue, ate a bow of cereal as I hadn't eaten much earlier in the day: 3 apples and a ham baguette.  Still no sleep. So I eventually put a movie on the laptop at 6.30am and hoped to nod off to it. It did the trick, but to my surprise I then had a knocked-out kind of sleep, waking with a start at 2.30pm in the day.

For the rest of that Sunday  I had to struggle. I was in a comedown style trance. You know where it is an effort to sit, lying down on the couch hurts, the thought of preparing and then cooking dinner is more painful than lying in a heap - increasingly hungry. God-damn fast food adverts. So no hangover, but the a comedown instead...hmmm?

Thing is, it also included several bouts of nausea. Which might just be the aversion therapy a fellow requires? Coupled with this, I find that I cannot smoke a cigarette without turning green around the gills for a good half-hour. And this is lasting too! It is now 4pm Monday, I am sweaty-palmed for the want of a smoke, but devilishly wary of the ould tobacco-weed: I had a cigarette two hours ago and am still queasy. Oh, and I still have a cloudy head which aches.

Did I mention the cherry on top? Bloating. Bloatedness. Bloatsploitation.

I look heavily pregnant, like a classic how-a-ya Dub with a 14 pint a night Guinness belly. Add to this a puffy face and baggy eyes, vis-a-vis, a skanger youngfella, on the comedown off the skag.

On the plus side, I have no desire to have, for instance: a couple of nice gentle pints tonight. For, given my subdued mood, I could more lament this sorry world: in faux Shakespeare mode:

Nice? I know not nice!,
Nor gentle neither,
...Nor gentle neither. (exeunt stage right)