Cyanide & Happiness is a webcomic responsible for stripping my brain of functioning neurons everytime I read a few pages. Yet, it is imporant to mention, it is usually the reason for my maniacal BOHAHAHAHAs when I’m in front of the computer, oftentimes alone, resulting in strange looks from people nearby.
This time though, it triggered a memory of an interesting dream I had.
Reminiscent of the time I had an allergic reaction to painkillers and the following denial-slash-gradual-acceptance that the next time I have a splitting headache, I’d just have to deal with the pain without the help of awesome (legal) drugs, I had a dream in which I had a splitting headache.
***Your vision’s getting blurry and the world appears in waves of colors as we move on to a dream sequence.***
So where was I? Yeah. Ridiculous, unbearable headache.
I took some medicine for it. I waited a little, but the throbbing in my head just wouldn’t go away. That pill was apparently the last I had of its kind so I grabbed another tablet of another chemical makeup.
I popped it into my mouth, and just as I took a gulp of water and swallowed, a friend (or someone I knew, whatever, it was a dream, okay) screamed at me and said, angrily “You can’t combine those 2 pills! You’ll die!”
And the friend left, because I guess that’s what friends do in dreams — warn you of your impending death and leave you to die.
I was stunned to say the least.
With that warning, I soon began to feel a little woozy. I was lightheaded but it was one of those things I knew for sure — I was going to die in a few minutes. I didn’t mind that I was alone in a small room. It was a cozy room and all, but a tiny voice in my dying brain was bothering me. I knew something was missing. I wasn’t ready to die! Not yet.
Because I didn’t know what I’d want my epitaph to say!
With my world swaying and my vision darkening, I fought to recall something Neil Gaiman had written that, in my dream’s memory, I know I had pointed out to friends saying “This is what I want to be on my tombstone.” My thought process was compromised, I knew. I could no longer take it off the top of my head, so I stumbled over to the bookshelf and pulled down all my Gaiman books, rifled through pages, struggled to find those lines that would be perfect on my final resting place’s headstone.
Everything was blurring. Everything was fading. And there I was on all fours, with my hands on my books, thinking, I have to know how those words go! I can’t die without a decent epitaph!
Then, anti-climactically, I woke up.
***Dream sequence over. The world is real again.***
It’s funny how unexpected dreams can be, don’t you think? I’m not really afraid of death, but I’m definitely far from welcoming it. I don’t obsessively think about the moment it’ll happen, but even stranger, I wasn’t thinking about it at all when I fell into that night’s episode of Death in a Dream.
I never did remember what that quote/potential epitaph was. But, wide awake and in reality, I still know it’s Gaiman’s words. Maybe it’s a sign I should memorize quotes more — if not in preparation of the Grim Reaper’s greeting, then maybe just to sound cool.
I should go find it.