As I said in my last post, I started taking Chantix last week. There was a whole list of possible side effects–the most worrisome being that I might snap and kill myself or someone else. I think too highly of myself to ponder suicide, and I routinely consider killing other people–especially in traffic, but so far I’ve not suffered any stronger than usual urgings to do so. Nausea–yeah had that–when it says to take it with food, it means a whole meal. Taking it with a granola bar won’t cut it. Nightmares were the other possible side effect, which didn’t worry me much since I sleep like a rock once I actually get to sleep and rarely remember my dreams anyway. So I wasn’t at all prepared for the dreams I’ve been having. They aren’t nightmares in the usual sense–no death or monsters or axe wielding home invaders. Just bizarre, and very realistic.
Like last night…I was at the beach. A steep sandy beach that led to the edge of a calm ocean. Very crowded, and it seemed everyone I knew was there–though not together. I excitedly drove from one group to another showing off my latest toy–a little motorcycle that looked like something a Shriner would ride in a parade.
It didn’t have the power to pull me up the sandy slope, so I had to push it. And it kept bogging down in the sand. The worst part was that I bragged to everyone about the deal I’d gotten–“They gave me full book on my car and my payments only went up $40 a month!” I traded in my damn car for this thing! And apparently paid more for it than my car cost!
Jump ahead. I have started the latest craze in kitchen decor with an extraordinarily expensive line of handpainted mexican tiles.
They are truly awful. They look like a preschool art project, but I just can’t sell them fast enough. So I enlist the help of all my friends children–feeding them pizza and giving them all Spongebob balloons in exchange for them fingerpainting tiles, which I then sell at ridiculous prices to people anxious to make their home look like an outdated Taco Bell. (maybe I was trying to figure out how to pay off my Shriner’s bike?)
The night before I dreamt my stepmother was throwing a surprise party for an acquaintance of mine. (The two women don’t know each other). The venue was some nasty banquet hall where the food was simply dumped onto the tables, and we had to scoop up our portions with our hands because they were out of utensils.
And finally, I dreamt that my office conference room was in the center of a huge men’s room. Or maybe it was a conference room that just happened to be ringed with urinals and toilet stalls. At any rate, it was a large wood paneled space with a huge conference table in the center and places to answer nature’s call all around the perimeter. As a coworker and I entered the “conference/toilet room” to prepare for a meeting with important clients, a smell knocked us down. Someone had dropped a deuce.
Only, they had done it in the urinal.
With these important clients just moments away, we tried flushing the offensive matter down the urinal. That didn’t work, so we tried scooping it up (wth a child’s sand toy that just happened to be there, natch). As we made our way from the urinal to the toilet with the scoop of poop, the doors opened and in walked the clients. Startled, we dropped it to the floor. One client rushed to help, only to slip and fall in it. Then the sprinklers went off. Thankfully, I don’t remember any more than that.
Every night, its like tuning into the indie film channel! I almost look forward to it! And to think, I may have this going on for two more months!