I have for several weeks been in the thrall of a grippe, a flu-like malady the main feature of which are bone-rattling coughing fits. It’s worn me out, though I now seem to be headed to Wellsville. The medicines I’ve taken are many and include a gloopy syrup with codeine, a variety of OTC items and methylpresnisolone - a steroid. This comes in a “blister pack”, which sounds like what you get from an STD. Anyway, the drug dries you up and reduces inflammation, but it does something else as well. It gives you intense, disturbing dreams. Worry not, I shan’t inflict descriptions of these night terrors on your good self. Freud notwithstanding, the discussion of dreams is a breach of decorum in that they’re meaningless (mostly) and boring as shit. That one built a go-cart with your ex-landlord in a lighthouse on a float in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on Mars is of interest to nobody. Such phantasms, of course, have a purpose.
© 2024 John Oliver
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