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Happy Little Penguin
April 3rd, 2008 03:52 pmI've been ill.
When I woke up yesterday I was so weak that it was seriously questionable whether I could make it downstairs to turn the heat on. I had to use two hands to lift the tea kettle. I spilled things and was physically incapable of cleaning them.
I had vibrant memories of a possible fever-inspired dream wherein my papa had died when I was a child and mom had quickly replaced him with someone of the same body-type, facial type, and name. This was very upsetting. Also, I was a penguin.*
This degraded to the point of me doing something I've done very rarely - asking to be taken care of. My wonderful, wonderful mom came over, made me dinner, and cleaned my house. Dad came by later and I was assured that he was definitely the real, original papa (Mom, on the other hand, say she can't believe I forgot my de-penguinification surgeries).
Mom forbade me going into work tomorrow (today now), because "If you're so ill that you have to call your mom to take care of you, you need an extra day to recover." I slept in, comfortable in the knowledge that I Had A Note From My Mother.
This morning I awoke at 10 to a significantly cleaner house, almost completely restored health, and a check from Deb at the gallery - the first sheep painting has sold! Literally, too - it was the first painted.
*I only realized this when the dream-camera switched to a kind of third person, a shot of my parents giving me a large doll. Mom asked, concerned "Do you think it's too big?" and I answered "No, I'll grow into it."
When I woke up yesterday I was so weak that it was seriously questionable whether I could make it downstairs to turn the heat on. I had to use two hands to lift the tea kettle. I spilled things and was physically incapable of cleaning them.
I had vibrant memories of a possible fever-inspired dream wherein my papa had died when I was a child and mom had quickly replaced him with someone of the same body-type, facial type, and name. This was very upsetting. Also, I was a penguin.*
This degraded to the point of me doing something I've done very rarely - asking to be taken care of. My wonderful, wonderful mom came over, made me dinner, and cleaned my house. Dad came by later and I was assured that he was definitely the real, original papa (Mom, on the other hand, say she can't believe I forgot my de-penguinification surgeries).
Mom forbade me going into work tomorrow (today now), because "If you're so ill that you have to call your mom to take care of you, you need an extra day to recover." I slept in, comfortable in the knowledge that I Had A Note From My Mother.
This morning I awoke at 10 to a significantly cleaner house, almost completely restored health, and a check from Deb at the gallery - the first sheep painting has sold! Literally, too - it was the first painted.
*I only realized this when the dream-camera switched to a kind of third person, a shot of my parents giving me a large doll. Mom asked, concerned "Do you think it's too big?" and I answered "No, I'll grow into it."
