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Last night at 2:45 am I was woken up by a migraine-ish headache on the left side of my forehead. I stumbled around for awhile, trying to figure out if it felt better to stand, to sit, to lay down, to swallow tylenol, to eat. The last one was a bad decision, as a few moments later I puked all those raisins up (painful). But then I felt slightly better, enough to maybe fall asleep with the pain.

Then I slipped into a dream where I had a terminal disease that was somewhat common in society and had progressed to the point of this pain which meant it would only get worse from hereon out. Some people with it at this point would decide to commit suicide, to put themselves to sleep in a way, as there were underground circles you could hire to come over and inject you with a giant syringe of morphine. I had made an appointment to do just that. But then I missed the appointment, trying to run around and take care of all my outstanding business before dying, and in the midst of it, I came into the kitchen where dommeyourass was sitting, and I was going to tell her my decision, but before I could, she said, "look" and the kitchen window was open and on the branch outside were all these amazing colorful birds, and some of them would flit inside our house and I raised up my hands and made a whistle signal that bluebirds liked, and the bluebirds answered back. And we just stood in the kitchen and marvelled at these tiny beautiful lovelies. [In real life, I'm not sure how fond I'd be of live birds in my kitchen, but these seemed pretty chill and not circling around and panicking.] And I realized, that if I had made my appointment with morphine Dr. Kevorkian dude, I would have missed this moment of this day. Consequentially, I decided to wait awhile longer, that maybe there were more things to see in life.

I don't usually have such made-for-television inspirational dreams. I blame the movie Life Support which I watched last night. On the DVD was a preview for El Cantante which I totally want to watch despite all critical and musical response as being negative, but because I'm fascinated by film vanity projects. Or at least that's my explanation for why I watched Loverboy some months back.

Birds have been fairly prominent lately in my life, starting at Ragdale when one of my spouses was a birder and she'd go for morning walking with her book and binoculars, and I went out a couple times with her. Lots of the info from my ornithology class in high school, I remembered perfectly intact. I came home from the residency and shortly after learned that jethead also love birds, even gave me a lovely guide book. I bought two pairs of binoculars, one of them a monocular binocular (which is funnily enough, not an oxymoron) for our future bird-watching expeditions. We watched part of David Attenborough's The Life of Bird series last week, the section from the dhammapada I chose for the week was about birds leaving the lake, and after robobebe posted pictures of the wall stencil, I've been considering ones for the bedroom or living room, most of them concerning tree branches and silhouettes of birds. But it wasn't until I had such an obvious dream that I noticed.

I really miss seeing my California people this year, but I'm extraordinarily pleased about what is happening here in Chicago too. I'm headed to the store(s) shortly for thanksgiving meal ingredients. But I should maybe decide on the dishes themselves before I go shopping.