So I was on a road trip with my mom on the coast… we were exploring old manor houses out there. She kept asking if I was ready for August 12th.
Me: “What’s August 12th?”
Mom: “Why it’s your wedding, of course!”
Me: “But August 12th is a Sunday… why would I have my wedding on a Sunday? That’s a terrible day for a wedding!”
Me: “Wait… who am I marrying?”
Before you offer congrats on my impending, if surprising, nuptials, I hope you have figured out that this was one of my many strange NyQuil-induced dreams last night. I am contentedly single and not on any Mrs-Acquisition mission. Also, my family is certainly not pressuring me to get tied down anytime soon. Or planning secret weddings for me… as far as I know.
And, for the record, August 12th is a Tuesday this year. I just looked it up. Phew!
But still, truly a nightmare, feeling as if my life (romantic or otherwise) was totally out of my control.
And I would NEVER pick a Sunday for a wedding, mine or anyone elses. That’s just bad planning.
Maybe that’s just a factor of being under the weather… not in control of your body and a little on the helpless side.
In my case, this apparently manifests in even more vivid and illogical than usual dreams and nightmares.
There were certainly more to my night’s adventures. Dreams whose details have now blurred into colors and pieces and fuzzy recollections. I was definitely allergic to something in one of them, trying to save a baby Orca in another, and there was a field of sunflowers at one point. All of which made sense at the time, but has now faded into half remembered blurry snippets.
More crazy, complicated, merging conglomerations of brain dumps and antihistamines concluding in a vaguely restful evening of sniffles and a general sense of confusion this morning.
That is the stuff that my NyQuil Dreams are made of.