The Nightmare Drugs

I have a cold. I'm on an antibiotic with side-effects ranging from projectile blood coughing to violent nightmares to hallucinations to a complete loss of the ability to taste anything but metal.

Pretty sweet huh? Heh. Unfortunately after a week, I have experienced none of the aforementioned side effects, except the nightmares. But who knows whether that's me or the meds?

The first night felt like meds. Nothing but a serial killer hacking bodies. The entire dream done in black, white, corpse green, and red. The killer tied butcher knives to huge black parrot raven birds and trained them to kill people because he thought that would be funny. It's sort of funny after waking to think that giant killer parrots with friggin knives attached to their legs would be horrifying. Ah, but that's the way nightmares work.

The next night I dreamt about ... the rapture? Zombies? People coming back from the dead.. the first one was Seth Green. Too much [adult swim] perhaps. It started out sort of silly but then people started coming back incomplete. Corpses without heads or one missing his feet and hands and eyes... just writhing. One was up in my closet just hissing at me.

And then I dreamt of things that are worse than death. I haven't been able to do anything today, the nightmare still rolling around in my brain mixing with Stephenie Meyer's The Host, which is enough melodrama by itself. Luckily my family went to see a movie today without me so I can stare at the wall in peace. Or blog. Heh.

Jerry called me a supervillain, with admiration or disgust - it doesn't matter, I feel both about myself regardless. 'Ms. Hyde' might be more appropriate.

"Fix me now, I wish you would. Bring me back to life. Fix me now. Somebody should... " Do you remember that song? I love Garbage. "Things don't have to be this way. Catch me on a better day."

Oh and it was just Christmas wasn't it. A newer MP3 player with a video screen. A book. Some cash. The fat man can't bring me what I really want, sadly. Just another December to myself to chew slowly with cold leftovers. And one more beating heart remembers me as a glimmer of hope to stave off their own cold, but finding nothing but ashes in their hands the next morning.

2009, I'm counting on you here.