The events I’m speaking of happened on April Fools’ Day, but it is not a joke. Not in the slightest. That I could tear away the curtain and show you the devices which have assisted in my facade, but I can’t do that. Instead I have try and convince you what a painful and silly April Fools I had. Yes, those two adjectives can simultaneously apply to situations, and especially this one.
Twas a Tuesday, and I slept a little later because the boss said he wouldn’t need me at work, due to there literally being no work for me to do. I was okay with this for the most part, even if it meant I wasn’t going to get a lot of pay for the week. Heck, I wasn’t getting a lot of pay the weeks prior to this, but I felt alright with this circumstance all the same. It was going to be an awesome day filled with chores, writing, video production, and maybe even a job search. Just the usual stuff I have in my head before depression or whatever blocks me from having any control of my life.
First thing in the morning I usually do is boot up my computer and catch up with the communication notifications. One such message was a note from my roommate who said I not only needed to do the dishes, but more than once a week. You know that feeling of anxiety you get when something alien comes before you? It’s the same feeling I get when I see hypocrisy. It’s not the fact I was being told to do a chore I was already going to do, and regularly do…of my own volition. More so, this was coming from a guy who has consistently neglected such a chore. This is a guy that lets greasy pans sit in hot water till it gets cold, rinses them, then claims them to be done.
So the day was already off to a bad start, because I had to once again accept that my roommate can be a dick. A headache arose, and I set about the day’s chores. Nothing was going to stop me, even if the day started off with a little bit of annoyance. That is until I noticed my headache was getting worse, which had me question if it was something more than a roommate pushing my buttons. Soon enough I noticed the signs: exhaustion, shortness of breath, body aches, and an unsettled stomach. I was going to get horribly sick. Getting more and more delirious, I made sure to finish up on the dishes I started, took an Ibuprofen, and went back to bed.
And thus began the crazed story of yet another fever dream. I’ve had a few of these in the past, of which I can hardly remember because they were so crazed and otherwise traumatic to me that they were better off forgetting. My earliest one had to be relayed to me by my mother, who claimed I was crying and afraid the ninjas were going to get me. The ninjas I could apparently see while conscious, mind you. The next recalled circumstance arose after I began to get sick while watching Juno, and afterword had to rush to the bathroom to release half digested corn through my nose. Nothing to do with Juno or the meal I had because both were awesome…just a strange coincidence. Couple hours later I was in my bed freaking out, and needed to start talking with my brother and his future wife in the middle of the night because I felt I was going insane, and needed someone to latch onto for reality.
So yeah…I’ve had enough fever dream experiences to note how bizarre they and I can get, and this dream didn’t let me down. When exhausted, my brain tends to pick up on thoughts of fancy I happen to come across, along with whatever it is that I happened to be doing through the day. As such, a dream about me being sick and how I was coping with it began to surface. And how I managed to cope with this involved me hitting the self-destruct button of my body, setting off a series of high jinks which would inadvertently cause me to commit explosive suicide if I didn’t reverse the damage.
Yes. The self-destruct button of my body. You see, our bodies are a lot like starships of the far future, capable of rerouting power and functions, transforming, and taking commands via the “captain” of the vessel. That’s right, that also means there’s a you you…inside of you…while the body that you think is you is just a machine which carries out functions for you. Kind of like Meet Dave with a blend of Neon Genesis Evangelion (because I’m pretty much an otaku, after all). And I had somehow discovered this by clicking “OK” in regards to a prompt to commence an evacuation due to the sickness I was feeling.
What happened next was extreme. When my brain is on fire as it was, the most intense CGI action sequences come to life, and feel so goddamn real. Given I’m capable of seeing things while conscious, imagine the realism I see just inside my own head. The instant I clicked “OK” my vision was slowly pulled away from my eyes, and I was now through the eyes of the me inside of me. I was fastened to a seat like a space captain, yet I was strangely wearing the same clothes my larger body wore. A female computerized voice began to announce the self-destruct process and set things in order, the first being to get me to an escape pod. Because the captain needs to survive so he can captain another vessel. Obviously.
I was shunted through a series of tubes within my body, helplessly watching it reconfigure and deconstruct in wicked sick Transformers style. My cells and necessary memories were being backed up, stored, and ready to ship out with me to my next vessel, and I couldn’t stop it. There were still plenty of prompts asked of me through each step along the way, but each time I managed to get to a point that would be an “end” to the nightmare, there was always something which kept it rolling. At one point I managed to isolate the sickness within me in a tiny plastic bag that was zipped up, boxed, then bagged up again for good measure, but because a tiny piece of the original sickness got out of the original bag and was now floating within the second…steps A through F1000 had to be followed all over again, through the long series of tubes, wicked CGI lasers firing here and there just because.
To be fair, these repeated failings within my body have more to do with the circular thinking of dreams than me being a crummy captain. I don’t think there’s any dream of mine that’s ever felt like it “ended” or had a conclusion. Rather, it would reach a point that was boring, and something would happen that would make it interesting like before, or I would think back to those moments (in a time travel sense) and chose a different path. It’s a dreadful pattern which speaks volumes of the human condition, I’m sure, and I was stuck in mine no matter how much I didn’t want it. Seriously. I was in and out of consciousness throughout all of this, and my mind would naturally return to the story that had no end.
But there was something else to this dream that made it really strange. At some point in the travels through my body, I met up with my roommates. How and why they were inside my body, I can’t tell you. Even my whacked out mind couldn’t come up with an excuse. I just knew they were there, and they were pissed I was so careless with the shiny red self-destruct button that just happened to be out in the open (or a computer prompt…whatever). One would think my roommates would need to be inside their own bodies rather than my own, or maybe the memories/bonds we have with people are really the tiny people that run around inside our bodies. But that’s more speculation on the dream than info the dream ever really gave me, and in the end it’s with the help of my roommates that I managed to bypass my bodies automated processes and avert the suicide I had set in motion. Well, more than a few times, because again this dream was living over and over again.
And so the process of this dream continued through the evening, breaking in and out of consciousness, but mostly in the hell of lucid dreaming. Sometimes I would recognize the afternoon sun was still out, and I would focus upon it and have a legit smile, my brain recalling the good feels I’ve had prior in such weather. The rest of the time I would moan and tumble about, and this was pretty much all I had left when the sun faded away. Some hours latter I was able to coherently note I needed a bathroom break, and that staying in bed just a little longer for the dream to end wouldn’t help. I tumbled to the restroom and managed a bit of hydration afterword, because my stomach was still unwilling to take anything into it. Knowing that I was going to be retreating to the bed soon, I made sure to quickly check in on computer communications that happened while I was dead to the world. Found a message from my roommate, thanking me for doing the dishes when he made his comments…diiiiiiiick.
But it’s honestly all good. After going through such rubbish the whole day (enough to make even the next free day go about the same way), I was just glad to even be thinking clearly. I was happy my roommates were alive and well with me, because they are cool folk despite the first world problems we go through. Even the sickness I went through is a small thing, and there are others I know who have gone through worse, the closest to home being my mother. Sickness is a humbling experience. And if all else, the constant peeing from my butt and powerful farts my roommate had to hear in the middle of the night is a burden to live through. Again I state, sickness is a humbling experience.