I had really vivid dreams last night. The one I remember the most clearly was about a ghostly figure that kept sailing through the air from the apartment opposite, closer and closer to the apartment I was in.
Also, my sister was in the apartment, and I was trying to protect her. Also, the ghostly figure was really the Virgin Mary, and she had big, dark bags under her eyes that got deeper and darker and baggier every time she made the trip.
I finally woke up because I screamed, only my body was frozen, so only a little moan came out.
“My poor bebeh sounded like a little ghost,” Mr. Face said, when I apologized for waking him right before his alarm.
After he woke me, I stayed up reading old Nora Ephron essays for a while and then I went back to sleep and had a sex dream about our tax preparer. I’ve been kind of groggy all day, but mostly euphoric. Pretty much the only downside to the Clomid so far is that I’m having a fair amount of cramps, although that might just be my period.
I forgot to ask the doctor if I could take ibuprofen, so I’m just toughing it out. That’s how much I don’t want to call the hotline and talk to anyone over there unnecessarily: I’d rather just sit here, giving birth to phantom babies.
Image via Susan WD at Flickr