Resolution 303

In dreams last night I was a fly on the wall, figuratively speaking, of the United Body Organs, which turns out to be a non-governmental organisation with a very specific remit that convenes inside my abdominal cavity while I'm asleep.

So, a broad, low cylindrical wood-panelled room, filled with circular desks. And lots of little versions of me with different haircuts and wardrobes, most of whom were bitching about how they've all just about had it with my sinuses (I have had the flu since last Saturday. It truly is getting kind of old.)

They were drafting a resolution on whether my brain should be removed from its present position (on the grounds of inefficiency) by means of direct chemical strikes.

I think my body is telling me to take more of the right kind of drugs. Except I wasn't really clear on which type of drugs to take because I started laughing, which made me cough, and then I woke up and walked over to the bathroom thinking it was time to go to work and brushed my teeth and threw up and brushed my teeth again and shaved before realising that it was ten to two in the freaking morning.

So I'll just take every drug in sight from now on and see how that works out. Rah.