SYNAPTIC HICCOUGHS

It would probably be unwise to base my judgment on only one positive experience, but it is, nevertheless, inviting. Largely because it was exposure to more Australians in one space than I've ever met before.

The scene: an operating theatre possibly in a television studio, somewhere in Australia. With lots of engaging medical staff, smoking cigarettes and eating junkfood from a restaurant chain, having temporarily given up on putting me under, and breaking for a greasy snack while waiting for the whatever it was to take effect. There were also large stuffed animals there, and a very jowly woman fellow patient covered in a rainbow tarpaulin.
One engaging female technician was feeding me French fries.

As dreams go, this one was extremely vivid.
But I don't think it means anything.
I'm not going to Australia.

It's just baffling.

No, I cannot figure out why I dreamed I was being prepped for surgery in Australia, nor why I would not be surprised at cheeseburgers and fries being wheeled around on a heated trolley before the operation. But the Australian surgical staff impressed me with their good cheer and brash confidence, as well as their tolerance for several wild animals and a large Snuffleupagus trying to get into the operating room.
Or the monster from underneath Binkley's bed in Bloom County already inside. With a surgical mask on, in preparation of them opening me up.

And there was happy music.
Waltzes, I think.


I'll ascribe it to the medications: Losartan, Metoprolol, Clopidogrel, and Atorvastatin. This will not be data I share with my regular doctor or my cardiologist, they do not need to know about my dreams.
Or my tenuous grasp on sanity.


Along with the young lady making me a nice cup of tea in a basement while it rained outside, and not minding if I gently puffed a pipe while we talked (a subtle and old-fashioned smelling Virginia blend, with a very memory-prompting aroma), it is a a dream that I enjoyed a lot.
A very likable imaginary woman.

If that's what Losartan, Metoprolol, Clopidogrel, or Atorvastatin do, I can live with that. And maybe it was the coffee I had just before I went to bed.


In the past, vivid episodes of dreamstate disreality might be reliably blamed on lobster or pizza -- not my experience -- but this could just be an unexpected bonus of recent medical chemistry plus coffee.


As well as Harry arguing with the other cigar smokers about politics, and calling them several kinds of idiot -- which they are -- in his New York accent. Shmucks, morons. That was recently. Fresh in the mind.
New Yorkese does not sound like Australian.


Shan't mention it to my apartment mate either. She's had doubts about my software for years, she does not need any more material.


Those were great French fries.
Thank you, Australians.




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