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I realized last night that I'm probably living in the middle of a fantasy novel. This amuses me no end, of course. Life is weird enough as it is without extraneous happenings. Now that extraneous happenings have started, well, happening, I am bemused but delighted.

Last night, though, I did have a drug trip. Perfectly legal, I hasten to add. It's just that I have strong reactions to even small doses of certain antihistamines, and when I'm already tired, that makes things doubly strong.

As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was scrolling through a bizarre dreamlike environment where the background and all the objects were made up of pages upon pages of overlaid and constantly refreshing text from random snippets of things. It was as if the green scrolling columns of characters that symbolize the Matrix were replaced instead by translucent cut-outs from yellowing books, with a fresh layer lacquered on every quarter-second. I was reading everything everywhere in addition to the story that was being told. People were assigned new names, new attributes. Nothing quite fit right with reality, yet everything clicked into place.

Simply sitting up and opening my eyes in order to get a drink of water brought me back into reality, but a reality viewed through a shimmering, distorting, half-dream lens. It took five minutes to navigate the complexities of a simple middle-of-the-night restroom trip instead of only two or three.

Since the experience was assigning things that I knew to be false to things, such as assigning either Darkside or Figment with the name "George", I cannot trust any of my experiences there (not that I remember them) to be in any way related to c'thia, but they certainly were entertaining while they were going on.

I shan't ever be taking that drug before driving or operating heavy machinery, and if I'm going to take it in daylight hours, I'm either going to be in a place where I can sit down reliably, or I will be carrying a Stick of Not Falling Over with me (like I did last time I was on the stuff, when I was taking it for the ant bites and tripping out majorly to Dawn).
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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