Dear GT:
I survived another night with two or three hours sleep and the rest full of , and the same recurring dream of the automaton being moved from room to room, sitting at desks with no discernable objective but to sit there at desks; there is a extra sensory communication among a few elect who plan an escape, but the thousands of miles surrounding the "school" is barren desert and unescapable.
Dreams interrupted by very real bouts of vomiting foamy slime and previous meal contents and breaking wind and percieved foaming bowel movements (I checked they were not foamy, the vomit was). But no pain, no unberrable muscle cramping, or syatic nerve pain shooting through me as I turn over or make an easy rise to meet the demands of of the vomiting.
And there's ice packs on my eye and Tylenol, but only Tylenol, no other drug. And the feeling of wellness pulsating through my body, focusing on still disturbed tissue in my knees and thigh.
We sit, we plan, we watch for a chance while all around us are moving from room to room in orderly fashion aware of the rules and the structure and the guards "big brother" watching. The preparations in the parallel dream are constantly in progress to move, sorting, storing, throwing out all manner of life's junk and stuff, loading and reloading the limited resources for moving, grandchildren coming and out of the picture with a parade of memories.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment