Dreams
Dreams are but interludes which Fancy makes;
When monarch Reason sleeps, this mimic wakes:
Compounds a medley of disjointed things,
A mob of cobblers, and a court of kings:
Light fumes are merry, grosser fumes are sad;
Both are the reasonable soul run mad;
And many monstrous forms in sleep we see,
That neither were, nor are, nor e'er can be.
Sometimes forgotten things long cast behind
Rush forward in the brain, and come to mind.
The nurse's legends are for truths received,
And the man dreams but what the boy believed.
Sometimes we but rehearse a former play,
The night restores our actions done by day;
As hounds in sleep will open for their prey.
In short, the farce of dreams is of a piece,
Chimeras all; and more absurd, or less.
– John Dryden (English poet, 1631-1700)
I went to my treatment session, this morning, and took an extra pain pill afterward – that's the first time I've doubled down like that, although the doctor had said I could. It left me feeling disjointed and outside of time, and I zombified in front of my computer playing a game.
I somewhat recovered, after Wendy reminded me the time, and so we went over to the hospital again to meet Dr Ryu, but the visit was fairly perfunctory. He didn't seem to find anything unexpected, and I kept my optimism.
We walked over to my work and I introduced Wendy to my coworkers, but I didn't stay long. Finally, we walked back home.
What I'm listening to right now.
The Tallest Man on Earth, "1904."
[daily log: walking, 7 km]
