Codeine Dreams

So the docs don’t want to give me antibiotics to fight my bronchitis. Apparently bronchitis is by and large a viral condition, though sometimes bacteria can cause inflammation of the bronchial tubes. The last six times I’ve had it a z-pack has cured me in 24 hours.

I called the doctor’s office yesterday pleading for a z-pack, having slept a mere 12 hours over a three-day period, no more than ninety minutes at any one time. Turns out I should’ve pled for a return phone call. What is it with doctors? I left messages at 8 am, 11 am, 3 pm, each time the receptionist promising me I’d get a call back. At 5 pm, worried the doctor would leave for the day without helping me, I showed up at the office.

It did not go well. She dug her heels in and refused me the antibiotics. Which I can understand, and probably would have accepted it more magnanimously if I learned the news six hours early. “Stay the course,” she said. “Since you’re home from work, you can have the codeine cough syrup during the day. But it’s a narcotic; I can’t give you anything else. I don’t have anything to knock you out cold.”

“I don’t want to be knocked out cold, I just want to stop coughing for longer than two minutes.”

No dice. I went back home and dosed up on the codeine. I watched a lot of miscellaneous tv and a lot of bad youtube videos and watched the Mets snatch defeat from the jaws of victory against the Pirates in the ninth. Along the way I dozed on the couch for an hour, and had my first codeine dream.

I then slept from 11:30 to 3 am, and 5 to 6:30. I had my second codeine dream sometime in the misty murky metalight of the early morning.

The first dream I’ve titled “Dog Iliad.” I’m halfway through a re-reading of Homer’s work, and I dreamed I was teaching it to my daytime companion, Charlie:

Platonic Form of Dog...

In order to do this, in order to help him understand epic ancient Greek poetry, I switched all the characters to canines. There was Dog Odysseus and Dog Achilles, Dog Diomedes, Dog Agamemnon, even Dog Helen. Dog-god Zeus, Dog-god Athena, Dog-god Apollo. Dog-god Mars, the original Dog of War. Dogs decked out in armor, with golden plumed helmets, carrying spears and swords in the paws, range over the landscape in brutal battle. “Dog Iliad.”

The second codeine-fueled dream I walked through an expansive mansion under construction. In fact, it’s slightly more than framed out, a humongous skeleton of giant 2x4s, with some sections of sheet rock hammered up to kinda show the future layout of the place. The mansion was mine, and I was touring it with a special guest star.

Who was the special guest star?

None other than Joe Gatto, from tv’s Impractical Jokers.

(In my delirium last night I watched a marathon of Jokers, still the funniest show on the air.)

So I take Joe to my favorite future room in the mansion: it’s going to be my weight room. I’m going to install a full-length mirror, add benches, barbells, dumbbells, and about two thousand pounds of metal weight. It’s going to be my Gold’s Gym. I intend to bulk out and get shredded, like a 1970s Arnold Schwarzenegger preparing for a Mr Olympia competition. My Dungeon, my House of Pain. Yes, this is what I was expounding to Joe Gatto of tv’s Impractical Jokers.

Then dawn caressed my face with her long rosy fingers and I hacked up a pint of yellow mucus.