I have developed this cold that has put all of my nerves on this grating edge. Each movement makes it feel as though they are scraping against each other, squealing steel on asphalt. This aching has robbed me of sleep for the past two nights, aided by a cat who likes to lie on her back and walk around upside down under the bed with her claws in the mattress, so I have turned to melatonin to knock me into that good sleep.
I still have not slept very well, but I did succeed in being thrown into these childish dreams about the Palinode committing great, romantic gestures.
He brings me gigantic balloons the size of sheep that squeak together and bouy him along several inches above the floor of a candy-floss pink mall. He cradles my head in his lap and tucks my hair behind my ear again and again for hours while he tells me stories of his adventures from his life before me that involve something about ships on the wind. We press our foreheads together, and I listen to the slow sighing of his breath in a field on a summer evening.
I had a friend once who always smiled sweetly and talked about Buddhism and went on personal growth retreats who had violent nightmares when she took melatonin. Her dreams were so horrific that they plagued her for months afterward. I, a person who has decidedly settled into her mid-January crankiness and high suspicion of her fellow humans, get to experience soft-focus candy-dromes populated with balloons and cuddles.
I woke up in a sticky patch of drool this afternoon believing that I must have married the sweetest, schmoopiest, cuddly-wuddliest man in the whole wide world with cherries on top. And then the pain kicked in again. Damn.
Screw this virus! All hail melatonin!
I have to run, because I took a melatonin capsule at the beginning of this post, and I have a date with unicorns and fluffy kittens and perhaps some skipping to do with the Palinode through a froth of bubbles. Nighty night.