Of vomit and dreams
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I - Wherein our hero vomits
It was a piss poor weekend here at my white trash tract. Saturday morning at my shop as I was unpacking boxes of small press comics nausea flooded through me. Hitherto I've only known nausea in rogue tremors that pass almost as soon as they registered. Within a half hour I was almost on my knees and had Charles bring me home. A couple of hours later I vomited. My stomach felt much better but I spent the rest of the weekend shivering and weak. Eventually as they almost always have my parents genetics - badly abused though they be - pulled me out of it.
II - And dreams
Illness produces interesting dreams. While sick I dreamt that I woke up to hear Gordon (best friend, business partner*) listening to political talk radio. When I went into the room he went in spasms. Carrying him outside Gordon turned into a baby. Then I woke up and told Gordon and Charles about the dream. Only to wake up and find myself alone in my dark house. A dream within a dream, rare enough to be almost worth the cause.
III - Frets
Spent a couple of hundred dollars having our dog, Duchess' ear looked after. A great relief. Duchess has been with Charles since he was fifteen, half his life. I'm more worried about how hard it'll hit him than about her.
IV - Chases his lover out of the house
No surprise that I'm weary and frazzled. After the vet Charles was like a Chatty Kathy doll on crack. Seeing him giddy and silly should make me smile. My imagined responses were probably too lurid even for Larry Townsend's Leatherman's Handbook. Charles amiably went to spend the night with a friend.
* That parenthesis is clearly the influence of Mort Weisinger, editor of Superman comics when I was a kid. In an early panel showing Clark Kent we'd always be advised that this was "Clark (Superman) Kent" - sometimes Superman would think that in his own thought balloons, a sad mental state. (Then again, comics sold much better back then.)