Being sick is an awful thing. Woke this morning feeling worse than I did yesterday — stuffed up and, despite the eight hours of sleep I’d enjoyed, utterly zonked. Still, I’ve managed to drag myself to work (yay me) and eagerly await the end of the day.
The eight hours sleep enjoyed last night was a treat, enhanced by the really neat dream I had. Sadly, I can hardly recall the details; only vague impressions, feelings, pervade any conscious thought directed at my slumber-seeing. Something about a floating pirate ship with an enormous interior, lit by torches, and ghastly. The ship was peopled by dozens if not hundreds of hideous humanoids that were trying to hunt me down — I know not why, nor can I connect the belief that this ship was somehow sailing an ocean of thought in some alternate timespace that was, if even only peripherally, connected with ours.
‘Twas a strange dream I had, spent hiding and, oddly enough, dragging the torso of a mannequin around with me, culminating in me escaping the hell-ship with the aid of a remorseful shiphand.
I wish I could remember more, though; the dream was a pleasant distraction from the illness which has currently taken up residence in my sinuses.