In my dream the Leonard Nimoy fundraiser was critical. I was working at a hospital now. I don't know why I left my current job, or if I ever even worked at my current job in my dream world. Dreams are like that. You pretty much live in the present and don't spend a lot of time on memories while you're dreaming.
Evidently the hospital that employed me in my dream world was a non-profit, because they were really excited about the Leonard Nimoy fundraiser, as the money it was going to bring in was vital to maintaining current operations. Leonard was to give a speech, and I was able to watch the proceedings as I worked. I was probably doing something simple like filling carts. I doubt I was dosing Gentamycin or anything since I haven't done that in 17 years. I hear they have computer programs that do that now anyway.
Leonard talked and then his son appeared beside him at the podium. Leonard declared that as soon as his son told him he loved him he would release the night's proceeds to the hospital. A hush of anticipation fell over the room. You could hear a pin drop.
I worked with the same pharmacist in the dreamworld hospital pharmacy that I do in the real world. There was a lot of work to do and I was worried about getting it all done in time. I take great pride in never leaving any prescriptions for the other pharmacist to fill the next morning in the real world, and I was holding myself to the same standard as I slept. I don't know why I do this, as I always end up filling way more prescriptions than anyone else at the pharmacy. I guess that makes me kind of a sucker.
Nimoy's son refused to tell his father he loved him. Well I guess he didn't really refuse. He just stood there, silently. Like he was autistic or something. You could feel the desperation in the room full of people who would have loved Leonard Nimoy with all their hearts if that meant he would release the money and they could keep their jobs.
In the real world I don't even know if Leonard Nimoy has a son.
I looked down at the floor and it was covered with needles. Like the tips of the syringes they use to give injections. The floor was absolutely covered with them and I started to clean them up. I was more worried about cleaning up all the needles than I was about the fact that the hospital was now not to get a single dollar from Leonard Nimoy. Because I never leave work for the pharmacist that comes in after me.
Then I woke up, and it became evident once again that scotch and melatonin aren't the best combination.
7 comments:
I was hard for Leonard Nimoy's son to say that he loved him, because being the son of a part vulcan actor, he can't express emotion.
I find a nice prosecco with a hint of clonazepam very mellow.
Happy New Year.
I had a variety of weird dreams last night. But the last dream I had, during that in-and-out stage right before getting up, was that I was getting married, had 24 hours to plan my wedding to some unknown,faceless and nameless guy, and the only people coming were guys I had dated, wanted to date, or who wanted to date me.
I suppose it's supposed to be about my unconscious fear of time running out for me to get married or something. The fact that one of my ex boyfriends got married for the SECOND time on Saturday probably isn't helping...
Other dreams aren't so easily understood- like the one where I was out for ice cream with Lewis Black and Robert Downey Jr kept running around screaming "BOOBAGE" and motorboating anyone he could... (myself included.)
There must be something of significance in there somewhere...I think it has to do with depersonalization and loss of manlihoodness and personification of loneliness that prompts guys to off fellow students at VA Tech, or army psychiatrists to open fire on fellow soldiers under the guise of a religious acknowledgement, and abandonment of patriarchal commendation by new-graduate engineers and urge to seek approval from Yemenese clerics or thought-police by sociopathological self-destructive behaviors in international airports.
As for the needles all over the floor, maybe it's thrown in there for the irrational trypanophobia. Who knows?
I'm just jealous that my liver failure has nothing to do with alcohol or enjoying life whereas the bloggist chooses to pickle that organ in imbibition much of spiritus frumenti (remembering entry from Remington's 'Science and Practice of Pharmacy' 17th ed.)
Well, I guess that hospital won't live long and prosper.
yeah, Leonard Nimoy has a son, he even wrote a book about being Leonard Nimoy's son....
...live long and prosper my dear DM...minus all the needles that is...
Congaqween
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