This is your brain on drugs

Today is the first day since early on Christmas evening that I have felt more or less healthy. Where and when I encountered the cold bug that got me is a mystery, but that's the way things are in a society (and why mask mandates before COVID vaccines were a really good idea). I'm not at 100% yet, maybe 85%, but the remaining trouble is all in the form of sinus drainage—gross, but comparatively painless. But I was basically out for a week, and I do extend gratitude to the cats for their understanding and for continuing to use the litter boxes even though they weren't getting cleaned in as timely a manner as usual.

During my downtime I made judicious use of off-brand NyQuil, which helped me sleep, but contributed (I assume) to pretty weird dreams. In one I was intending to move out of my spacious condo and back into a 550-square foot apartment on 45th St., and in the dream my spacious condo was even more spacious and had a hidden sub-basement like a batcave. I had another dream that involved strange doing with cats of the past going missing, which, really, subconscious mind, WTF? Was that kind of freakout really necessary to inflict on my sleeping brain? There was also something in that dream about living in a trailer that reshaped itself as needed like a transformer toy, and I never played with those, nor have I ever seen the I'm-sure-are-terrible movies based upon them. None of that was important, though, finding the missing sometimes-Pixel-sometimes-Cloudy-sometimes-Charcoal feline was primary.

As I'm not-quite 100% yet and I have two softball games to umpire on Thursday night, I may do one more night of generic-NyQuil-aided rest so I'm not getting up to blow my nose and/or spit mucus into the sink twice and hour or whatever. Hopefully the dreamscape will be more adventurous in a plumb-my-subconscious-for-fun-fantasies way than a do-a-deep-dive-into-anxieties-and-childhood-traumas way.