You know, I've never been one to use drugs. Sure, I've induldged a wee little bit of the inhalant kind of "mood mellower", but not one to ever do anything more. I mean, the most extreme I've ever done has been what they used to call "bennies" waaaaay back when I was trying to stay up late in hopes of snagging SG one New Year's Eve. It didn't work. And it was THAT experience that I realized, nope, not, NO!!!!! I'm never doing that again! I've never had such a rough day after before in my life.
But last Sunday night whilst trying to sleep, I was thrown for a loop. Oh sure, I had a few beers during the day and then some wine into the evening. I mean, we planted the garden for crying out loud. I must have some sort of hop in order to do that. Seriously. By having a few drinks while you plant the garden, well, it just makes it more interesting. As the little seedlings begin to surface and you try to figure out exactly what is what! It's the oh so exciting anticipation of looking at black mud for anywhere from 7 - 21 days to see what will come up....and where! Besides, wine in the evening helps you sleep, right?
It was late by the time we came in. And, at this time of the year, there was the mandatory "body check". You know, wood tick season. Two dogs. Two kids. Yeah, you give it a really good once over to make sure that none of the low profile, burrowing, little bastards haven't bitten in. Which I did. And then I went to bed.
And then I dreamt. Horrible, horrible dreams. Nightmares if you will. Wood ticks, burrowing into every part of my body, my eyes, ears, up my nose, between my toes and behind my knees. The little fackers were even tucked up under my armpits. Everywhere!
It was awful.
I woke up in a cold sweat, which, if I do say so, was kinda nice, given the hot sweats (or "chinooks" as they've been referrred to in my world) that I normally endure. But there was still this panic thing that was going on. I stripped down and turned on the lights. I needed to make sure that there weren't any of these burrowing little bastards on me.
It was when SG yelled "what the "hell" (actually, it was the word that starts with "F", but you know, we need to maintain some sort of good rating here) are you doing, turning on the light?" that I realized, I was maybe, kind of, sort of, possibly, having a nightmare and over reacting.
But the memory of last Sunday has lingered with me all week. So much so that I have been going to bed in my flannelette pjs. Yes, covered from head to toe. And, you know, if I hadn't been experiencing the "chinook", I probably would've had my fuzzy socks on as well.
So, yeah. I think I may have had an "acid trip" while sleeping. While not taking acid. Strictly through imagination. Through release of the sub-conscious. Through, okay, hard to admit this one, but perhaps a slight paranoia about bugs???
Paranoia? Crap. It seems so real.
No comments:
Post a Comment