fevered dreams

When I was a child, I would have a recurring dream every time I felt ill. The circumstances would always shift slightly, but the gist remained unchanged over the years.

I would be lying on the sofa or in a recliner. It was almost always at home, though. I would be so, so cold, deathly cold, chilled deep into my bones. In the other living room recliner, my father would be sitting quietly, watching TV. In a heap by his feet, a blanket, one that seemed to radiate warmth from within. All I want is to wrap myself in the blanket, but for some reason, I do not rise to get it myself. I ask my father to give it to me. I get no response. I ask again, but it's as though he can't hear me...or I'm not really there. I focus back on the sofa or recliner, and it's as though all my senses are heightened: I see everything magnified tenfold, and I am made aware of every single detail, all textures and patterns.

In the case of the sofa, it's an old chesterfield, very long - maybe even a four-seater, although that may be distortion from my childhood size talking - in burgundy. My dad's recliner was in the same thick-woven material, while the recliner I was in was a dark charcoal gray with a patchwork pattern in mostly warm colours, again with the thick weave on the chair arms. Yeah, I know, it was the seventies; I can't explain it otherwise. Opinions on said furniture were quite varied: I clearly remember my first cat, miss Lady Butch, thinking it was an absolutely lovely substrate for sharpening her claws.

Everything is in slow motion, the better for me to experience it all. But there is absolutely no sound other than my unheard requests. I'm still cold, and nobody hears me.

I always thought it was an odd dream, but its creepy underlying meaning only became apparent to me as I grew older. I think back, and I don't believe I've had that dream since hitting puberty - which coincidentally, is when I started experiencing migraines. Which leads me to two conclusions: 1) that was a really sucky trade-off, could I have the dreams back? and 2) if I'm still around then, will the dreams come back when I hit menopause, or will the migraines endure?

Incidentally, and pretty heavily off-topic, the only time I've experienced the same kind of "whoa, trippy" heightened sense, particularly of sight and touch, was after ingesting magic mushrooms. (A shocking admission, I know.) What the link between my brain working through some kind of internal electric storm and food poisoning is, I have no clue. But, from a purely observational standpoint, the healing process appears to be highly similar. Go figure.

On the other hand, while I toss and turn during a migraine episode, I seldom dream, and when I do, its shadows don't remain imprinted in my memory. I think my mind is just too busy weathering the hormonal clusterfuck to bother entertaining poor little me with pretty pictures and crazy storylines.

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