Here is the tale of an elaborate dream I had.
Baron Michael Kluffhumps had been murdered.
I think that’s how you spell his name my subconscious wasn’t really that clear. But that’s not important.
What was important was that the Baron had been killed and I had to solve the murder.
No real indication as to why I had to do it. Maybe the police were on strike or something.
During my investigation all clues seemed to point toward the Baron’s son who had been banished from the family home after coming out. The son however had moved to Canada a month before the murder which made all the evidence pointing towards him very suspicious.
Then my focus was on the Barons mistress. She however was filming her reality show so also clear.
The estranged wife was innocent as was the greedy brother.
Then there was battle of wits between me and the butler. A man of sinister intelligence who talked in half truths and elaborate riddles. Once all of his puzzles were solved it was clear that he just liked making games and riddles and was really happy to have someone to play with.
In the end it was the Barons pet turtle because it was a damn dream.
Sometimes my mind is a fortress I can go through stressful days for weeks at a time and come out feeling empowered.
Other times one tiny slip in concentration and I start thinking in circles.
This forces me to repeat a scenario in my head which increases my anxiety.
I become afraid to take any action convinced the worst possible outcome is the only outcome and always hear the negative side to a conversation. This pushes my paranoia.
My focus gets shattered and I am unable to keep my attention on anything for more than a few minutes. This stops me accomplishing anything and has me frantically jumping between different forms of media unable to concentrate. I jump between these in a loop as well reinforcing the circular thinking so now my attempted distraction is also making me ill.
The worst this when this happens is that I am not always aware of it.
It can take me a few days to stop. To take a step back and control my breathing and reset my thoughts.
Thankfully this is something I can do now.
I can calm myself. I can answer the first question in my head instead of asking a dozen more in its place.
I can get my work done and not feel like an imposter.
I can relax and regain my focus.
I would have killed to be able to that 15 years ago.
Your army is impressive but it is only capable of doing one thing.
You declared total war and weaponised your people.
Killing is all they know now.
Yes you have one the battle and soon our city will fall.
Our soldiers bought time for our families to flee, our nation may fall today but our people and our way of life will live on.
You however. For the sake of your war have killed your people.
Everything that made them unique is gone. They are killers now and will never go back to the life they once led.
So march on. Attack us and the other nations around us for war is all your people can do now.
In the end our cultures will live long after yours is forgotten.
They seem so calm and happy but secretly their little feet are flapping like mad.
Then occasionally one duck bumps into another and the quaking begins.
Sometime calm and cheery but usually loud and angry.
Loud angry quacking ducks flapping around inside my brain.
It’s a wonder I ever get anything done.
As I’m currently ill my head is also full of clouds making me feel weightless and foggy.
For the ducks however is causing more crashes and much more quacking.
All the ducks are unhappy now. All quacking. All loud.
No happy friendly quacks remain. Only anger and threats of violence.
All of this would cause me to question my mental health if I didn’t remember that ducks have a large corkscrew shaped penis. Then I laugh and the ducks join in the laughter.
I fear the day mating season starts for the head ducks though.
Walking home in the early evening I passed a small playground. Walked by it hundred of times. In the summer it’s full of children during the day and teenagers drinking at night.
In Winter it’s mostly empty and sad looking.
Tonight however there is one man sitting on the swings slowly rocking back and forth and staring directly at me.
Only after a whole minute of constant staring do I realise I am staring right back. Our eyes are locked and I have started to walk toward him.
He mutters something as I get close that I don’t quite understand.
Then he gets up and walks away. I take his seat and slowly start to swing.
It won’t be long till I deliver his message.
So my war with the cold is not going well. It has so far proven resistant to time, fire and constant hydration.
It has also stepped up its attacks forcing coughing and sneezing much more regularly and in an act that has convinced me I am being trolled waits until I answer the phone and then forces my nose to start running.
So my nemesis you’ve played your games and had your fun but our little battle has now come to an end. I am backpedaling from my declaration not to use chemical weapons and it is now time to flood my system with medicine to purge you.
Our little dance is about to end.
(Typed and uploaded from my phone not even a quick attempt at editing has been done)
It is January third I am back at work and the cold I have been incubating since the middle of December has decided to stretch out a little and try and claim more territory.
My head and chest are now colonies for the illness. I can breath using only half my nose and balance is off due to one of my ears being blocked.
It thinks it has won. It thought I would sit idly by while it took over.
I was content to leave it be while it was a mild cough or occasional headache but it got greedy and now it is time to fight back.
I has gained my attention and begun to prove a hindrance so it must be destroyed.
The heating is turned up. I am wrapped up warm. Coffee and Hot Juice is on constant supply.
Oh I’m not using medication to get rid of you my little friend.
You are getting burned out.
Your entire colony will suffer as the heat sears you. Yes I will suffer as well but in the end I will be triumphant and stronger for the ordeal.
Your ambition will be your downfall.