migraine dreams

I have just come out of the second-worst migraine of my life. It comes in second only because the first one lasted longer; they came pretty close in intensity (although this one involved more lunch-losing, not that you needed to know.)

I wound up missing two whole days of work, a first for me in my entire career. Never mind focusing on translation, I could barely keep my eyes open; the glare of the monitor was too mych to handle. So on Friday, All Hallows Eve, I slept from 9:00 am to 11:05pm, with only one, um, emergency bathroom break (see above for TMI.) Of course, this was after a more or less regular night's sleep, so at some point I was finding it harder and harder to fall back asleep when I woke up. And at some points I began dreaming, half-awake. Was it because it was Halloween that my dreams were so permeated with the presence of my parents, both of whom are deceased? They say that's the moment when the veil between the living and the dead is at its thinnest, and judging from my dreams, I would tend to believe that is so.

My mom makes regular appearances, my father much less so, yet he was the one who was prominently featured yesterday. Again, I see flashes and bits and pieces, far more than entire stories, but his presence was clearly distinguishable. Here are the three stories that I remember most:

I remember having our printer at work missing a font. Oddly, printers in that part of the universe had an open top like old-fashioned typewriters, and fonts were something to be installed by hand. Following the careful safety instructions of the engineering department, I inserted a screwdriver into the top of said printer to remove the part that would allow me to add the missing font. I heard a loud zap, and felt everything go white before I was stunned back awake.

I remember walking along some road in Pointe-Claire with my father, on a bright sunny day. At some point, he sat down on the sidewalk, unable to continue. I thought it might be heatstroke, having had it myself before. I asked him whether he preferred I go get the truck (what truck? who knows?), the car, or call an ambulance. He told me to do what I thought was best. So I went off to get the car, which was parked completely on the other side of town, and pretty much getting lost along the way, thus ensuring I'd have the darnedest time finding dad again - in hindsight, picking exactly the least useful of the three options.

I remember standing in the middle of my small town's only (and pitiful) shopping mall, the way it was set up in my teen aged years. Around me, two of my high school nemeses. I began to rant and rave, proclaiming to all who would listen that I had been unfairly treated throughout high school by said two girls, and throwing out all the examples I could remember. They stood in silence, staring at me, somewhere between bemusement and embarassment. (For what it's worth, let me provide a true example: they declared I was unfit to hang out with them, or actually even live, since at the tender age of eleven, I still did not know who Ralph Lauren was. Um, Catholic girls' school in the mid-eighties, anyone? To this day, I think they deserve a bitch-slap for that.)

The mind is such a strange thing. I think the day we figure ourselves out may just be the day we reach god, i.e. not likely to happen, given our stewardship of this earth.