Wow, crazy night.
Lemme tell you about a little experience I had with my good buddy Jaeger: I was over at my friends’ house — I won’t name names to protect the innocent — having a good time drinking. We both just had the same brutal, interminable networking midterm and were damned ready to forget it. After two shots, and a surfer on acid, we decided a little customary foos-ball was in order; I beat the pants off him, big time. Afterwards, I shared my Cuban cigars with my friends, and we hit up the neighbors for something a little more wacky.
This is where things start to get fuzzy.
We passed the controller to San Andreas, amoung other things — I’m not totally sure how long we were at it — until my body was so dry, my contact fell out of my face. After rescuing that situation with some borrowed solution, I decided it was time to make my exit, as my friends had done so before me. Having, by now, gone through a wide range of feelings and lingering random funny-thoughts — which is what I’m calling a random half-thought that you only really think of long enough to think that it’s mildy funny that you are thinking of it, and then presently forget and move on to another — I was sufficiently tired for a nap.
Cue funky trance-like state.
There I am, on the couch — only remembering to breathe in 5 breathe bursts, with a time delay of 25 seconds between each (bonus points if you can solve that pattern of pulses for a Fourier Series) — dreaming the aforementioned funny-thoughts, and hallucinating mildy.
I hear the bone-sawing sound of an automatic weapon from the video game next door, and suddenly realize: I haven’t really lived the past year and a half of my life, and am still desperately trying to wake up in the recovery room. I open my eyes and realize: my entire family is still there, encouraging my failing attempts at breathing, as I turgidly attempt to effect some proper form of gas exchange — one involving O2 and CO2. Then, in an instant, the glimpse that I have of that altered reality — that feeling of not having lived the past 18 months — is blown away as I recover my senses, and fill my lungs with oxygen.
A little background for those of you who are not so familiar with the story of my life: I had an incredibly invasive jaw surgery 18 months ago, which wired my jaw shut for 3 weeks, and left me 15 pounds lighter. Needless to say, the time between when I was put under — which, as it occured, happened right after one of my surgeons told me that the other surgeon likes to operate naked (I looked over to verify, and sure enough, he was taking his shoes off) — and the time that I got unwired, and felt more myself was less of the predicted 18 days, and more like 18 months. Hell, I still feel the pain — or lack thereof — in most of my upper jaw; I have not fullly regained the feeling in my gums. Having this sort of dream really trips me out after such an ordeal. Really, I don’t want to go through that again.
