smokingboot (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
smokingboot) wrote2020-08-02 08:22 am
smokingboot) wrote2020-08-02 08:22 am
Entry tags:
Anxiety
Dreams of my mother in hospital, being medicated, near death maybe.
In another couple of rooms, I am throwing up copiously, floods of it everywhere. Some I try to clean up, but between that and the hospital room, I am neither with my mother enough nor cleaning things up enough.
My brother is there.
*
In real life, now that my mother has a phone and uses it, we stay in touch every day, so my main fear - that she will have an accident/get ill and no-one will know about it - is less likely. But she seemed weary yesterday so I guess my subconscious has over-reacted. Or maybe Aunty's death stays with me; I was thinking of her yesterday and felt like Dad was nearby, whatever that means.
Once there was a time when, if something went wrong, I could have just gone over, stayed as long as I was needed, be it months or whatever. Between Covid and Brexit, not going to happen. Once,if I needed to be there for longer than a couple of months, if she needed looking after for a while, I could do it. Now I don't have that option.
Every Brexiter I know should thank the courtesy with which I was brought up, that I don't put sugar in their tanks or just punch their stupid faces repeatedly. I swear to god, sometimes I have fantasies of being at some all-Brexiter country fete and pouring hot tea all over their laps followed by a pie to each and every face. I don't care if they get their own cake and tea attacks in return; crazy as they are, they will find a new respect for the word if their delusions ever cause me a moment's difficulty helping my mum.
Ugh, stupid demented dream.
In another couple of rooms, I am throwing up copiously, floods of it everywhere. Some I try to clean up, but between that and the hospital room, I am neither with my mother enough nor cleaning things up enough.
My brother is there.
*
In real life, now that my mother has a phone and uses it, we stay in touch every day, so my main fear - that she will have an accident/get ill and no-one will know about it - is less likely. But she seemed weary yesterday so I guess my subconscious has over-reacted. Or maybe Aunty's death stays with me; I was thinking of her yesterday and felt like Dad was nearby, whatever that means.
Once there was a time when, if something went wrong, I could have just gone over, stayed as long as I was needed, be it months or whatever. Between Covid and Brexit, not going to happen. Once,if I needed to be there for longer than a couple of months, if she needed looking after for a while, I could do it. Now I don't have that option.
Every Brexiter I know should thank the courtesy with which I was brought up, that I don't put sugar in their tanks or just punch their stupid faces repeatedly. I swear to god, sometimes I have fantasies of being at some all-Brexiter country fete and pouring hot tea all over their laps followed by a pie to each and every face. I don't care if they get their own cake and tea attacks in return; crazy as they are, they will find a new respect for the word if their delusions ever cause me a moment's difficulty helping my mum.
Ugh, stupid demented dream.
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