I woke up, and thought: “I’m fucked.”
The weird thing is that I did dream about the 4th of July, but it was all encoded in flags and Wonder Woman (no, I don’t know why, probably some kind of conversation between awesoma writers discussing the WW backstory and… JMS’s… whatevers) and, a usual component of todays non-nightmare dreams, work. Nothing involving my parents, just the holiday.
‘Course, when I woke up, I left the realm of safety that the Overherd dream-eating cows ensure, and was at the mercy of the GM. I failed my PTSD level 1 check pretty much straight away. The onslaught of thirst and hunger that I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep down because of the nausea; I couldn’t sit up, much less stand up; and my thinking went wonky; all due to the overwhelming deer-in-headlights feeling I always got when my father came into the room upset and about to take it out on somebody.
I know he’s not there, and this isn’t even a full flashback where I’d believe (much to my shame and embarrassment) that he was there. And yet the reaction remains, as if… I don’t even know.
The initial stat penalties have somewhat worn off, but I’m not going to be able to safely drive anywhere without a need to, and I’m also something of a mental wreck, so I wouldn’t be terribly good company. I made strawberry banana oatmeal smoothies, and am almost positive I can keep them down. Almost. Have to get something down, though.
Oh, here’s the original recipe for Strawberry Oatmeal Breakfast Smoothies, but I adjusted it a bit: vanilla rice milk replacing the soy milk, vanilla extract, and white sugar all in one go; and extra thick rolled oats from Bob’s Red Mill.
I want to do stuff with mung beans (like Mung Bean Pancakes from Kitchen Mouse; or Mung Bean Cake (no dairy or eggs or flour needed); or Yellow Mung Bean Pudding (no dairy, needs arrowroot)). Or anything in the kitchen. But I’m so exhausted… it’s like opening the shoe box of spoons and finding, like, 3 in the bottom.