I suffer from strange whims about my health. I have recently contracted a mild cold - it is the first illness I've contracted all winter, and it could hardly be any milder than it is or I would cease to even be certain I have a cold at all, but indeed it is definitely a cold - and on Friday evening I was seized by a sudden absolutely URGENT need to acquire orange juice. Now, it is true that I have heard it said that vitamin C is good for colds; but I have also heard it said that walking around in the cold and rain in the middle of the night is extremely bad for colds, and I only developed this sudden absolutely URGENT need to acquire orange juice at 10:00 p.m. on Friday night when it was raining and I knew that all the major grocery stores I would normally drive to would already have closed for the night so that left the logical choice as the little family-owned convenience store which is across the street and down a block and a half, too close for me to feel at all sensible driving there but kind of far away to walk in the cold and rain with a cold, especially when you consider that I do not own an umbrella nor any coat with a hood on it nor any coat which is really very warm at all - a side effect of being a Sacramentan with a car is that one almost never has any actual need to remedy these wardrobe deficiencies.
Anyway, when I suddenly get it into my head that I absolutely URGENTLY MUST HAVE something, the results of trying to ignore this whim all night long are simply not endurable. So with a sigh of exasperation at my own unreasonable demands ("You'll regret this when you get pneumonia!"), I got out of bed, put on all my clothes and the flimsy thin hoodless jacket which is the only jacket I own, and walked through the rain and the dark to the store. The first thing I saw after I descended the stairs of my apartment was half a finger lying in a puddle in the parking lot. It was a plastic finger, precisely identical to one that I used to have when I was a kid, a Halloween prop I acquired somewhere - it was hollow, so you could slip it over your own finger, and it was designed to look just like a finger except with a huge bloody gash down the middle to scare people with. The finger in the puddle, however, had been slit vertically down the middle with scissors, and half of it had been left in the puddle whereas the other half was nowhere to be seen. I was quite intrigued to find a familiar object from my childhood lying in a puddle, particularly because it just seemed to so perfectly sum up the mood of the rain and the darkness, that I should find half a bloody finger lying abandoned in the parking lot. I actually knelt down to admire the finger close up, but this caused my skirt to get dipped in the puddle and I recalled that it was less than entirely sensible for me to stand around getting sentimental over disembodied fingers while getting rained on and suffering from a cold. So I stood up and walked on. An exquisitely beautiful extremely long-haired fluffy cat, with greyish fluff around its face and tail and a sort of off-white fluff everywhere else, meowed at me and then I wanted to stop and pet it too, but it ran away when I got closer than it wished. Then I proceeded through the gate at the front of my apartment complex, and across the street, and down a block a half to the west, and purchased the prized orange juice, and returned home. To give my irrational whims fair credit: the orange juice was indeed delicious. It was one of those nice occasions when an object I've gone absurdly out of my way to acquire actually does turn out to please me just as much as I'd hoped it would.
But ever since finishing that glass of orange juice 24 hours ago, I have done nothing but read, and sleep, and dream, and feel sad and contemplative. I do remember waking up from a dream in the middle of the night last night and thinking, "I need to be sure to remember this dream in the morning"; later I woke up again from a different dream and as I was thinking about that one I remembered the earlier one again and thought again that the earlier one was important to remember; the later one not so much. But then in the morning I remembered nothing at all, until I read rhekarid's entry about a dream and remembered that I too had had a dream, two dreams even, but I can no longer remember either of them.