There was a low-lying fog carried on the breeze over the field. As the fog approached, however, I could see it wasn't fog: it was long strands of clock gears, held together by the untentioned springs of the machines. They were undulating and groaning, drawn in black ink by a draughtman's finest-tip pen...
I woke up coughing uncontrollably, cold with sweat, and my hair wet as though I just come from a shower. I also felt objectively better.
I knew I’d had a flash of inspiration just before I woke, and when I thought back, this was it: “the world is full of non-stuff and stuff.” Like most such midnight revelations, that now seems distinctly underwhelming. It’s probably not even true anymore, and certainly not if some team actually detects dark matter!
Excursion 1:
At the time I thought this might make the basis for a children's book, but that's clearly delusional; children's books should always amuse the adults who read them as well as the kids. It's why we weren't Richard Scary or “Mr” book fans at our house.
Excursion 2:
My end-of-the-dream inspiration reminds me of a quote I read in a Reader's Digest essay when I was a teenager: “The entire universe is permeated by the strong odour of turpentine”. I can’t remember who the original story was about, but do remember it was about a man who woke up having just discovered something wonderful in his sleep, wrote it down so he couldn’t forget it, and that’s what he saw in the morning. Since the internet, some of the charm has unfortunately leaked out of that anecdote. Now it's usually attributed to Dr Oliver Wendell Holmes (Sr) and his experiments with ether, and is rendered as “a strong smell of turpentine prevails throughout.”
Anyway, I’ve led a sheltered life. That was about the sickest I can remember ever being.
Excursion 3:
Apart from that time in Smith, Alberta, when I hallucinated for the best part of a week before pulling myself together enough to hitch into Edmonton. The doctor feared encephalitis, and I lived with that for two days until the tests came back: negative – fortunately it was just heat stroke.
I’ve had a much higher temperature and have thrown up more before. It’s just that, this time, my physical decline came on so gradually I hardly noticed it at first. I coughed and coughed up phlegm a little more than usual in the first weeks, then found I couldn’t ski, then found I couldn’t walk either my usual pace or usual distance, then found I couldn’t walk at all without feeling awful. I ended the last week before my visit to the specialist basically feeling more miserable day-to-day, unable to speak above a whisper, unable to keep anything down except water, dozing under a blanket on the couch.
This does not go well with my self-image!
Then, Prednisone! And, after only five hours, the fever dream, where I started this story.
Excursion 4:
Prednisone is a temporary game-changer for people with asthma-related problems but dangerous to stay on. So I’ll do what I can to avoid that; I’ve done it before.
My dad always claimed aging wasn’t easy. In this, like in many things, I think he was probably right.
Sunday, March 26, 2017
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