Saying yes

I dreamt that I was in a movie starring Robin Williams in which he plays a man who spends a year saying yes to everything - yes to any idea that pops into his head, yes to any opportunity that presents itself, yes to any offer or request by another person - yes to anything as long as it's not lethal, immoral or impossible.

Initially he's in a giant museum gym and he is the only adult playing on all the equipment while his best friend, a blonde woman in a business suit, looks on - he swings on the log suspended fifty feet in the air (over a net).  He walks through the silly string fountain and climbs the forever stairs, a bedazzled escelator that moves downwards at the same rate as the stairs move up.

In the next scene his body has youthened to the age of thirteen; he stands on a dais in the middle of a town square wearing silk pyjamas and self-consciously adjusts his page-boy wig.  His mother points Vanna White-style as a horse-drawn chariot moves through the center of the square, stopping right in front of him.  His mother pulls a long black leather Matrix style jacket out of the chariot and holds it up.  He smiles, nods yes to the costume and moves foward to assume the role of superhero.

The "ick" factor

Last night I drank six glasses of wine.  Well, I "tasted" six wines.  But the pours were generous and the wine was tasty and I probably drank a total of three actual glasses of wine.

The rather astounding thing is that I am alive this morning, since red wine usually gives me a hangover about half an hour after drinking.  Perhaps it is because I made a point of drinking six gallons of water with my wine.

Still, it seems the red wine was intent on leaving some mark on me.  Instead of light sensitivity and nausea, I had the most repulsive dream in recent memory.

About three weeks ago I had viral pinkeye.  It's a very special feeling to be an adult with an infection nobody else has had since they were 8.

Last night I dreamt that I was examining my eyes in a mirror to see if the redness had gone down.  I noticed an eyelash and when I went to remove it, the eyelash moved.  Then I saw another.  And another.  Both eyes were filled with small dark worms swimming just below the conjunctiva.

It was possibly the most horrifying moment of my waking or sleeping life.

I ran into the main room of the house where my roommates - a couple with a child, and a cousin who was crashing with us - were making breakfast.  I was talking too fast, and crying; nobody could really understand what I was saying.  The mom of the couple tried to hug me and I violently shoved her back.

"Promise me you will wash your hands immediately," I told her. "Don't touch me till I'm better."

It took some doing to convey what I had experienced and I don't think they really believed me at first.  After getting promises that everyone would treat me like a biohazard I returned to my room to google "eye worms".

And thankfully, finally, woke up into the reality where my body is not a super disgusting harbor for creatures of nightmare.

Thank you half-hearted Seattle morning sun.  Eventually you did your job.  I wish you could have moved just a little faster.