Episode 55. In which I don’t want to talk about it, so I talk about hypo-dreams instead.

I had a bit of a meltdown earlier, had a bit of a cry, but I’m not going to go on about it, so instead I’m going to talk about hypo-dreams.  I will say this, though, my little cry was at least 50% caused by lack of sleep.

Last night, and the night before, I woke up at about 1am mid-hypo.  When my blood sugar crashes in my sleep, I have the maddest dreams (hypo-dreams) and wake myself up.  At which point I feel a bit dodgy, recognise what’s going on, and get up to eat Haribo and/or ice cream and/or Wagon Wheels and/or crackers and cheese.

Last night my hypo-dream was vivid enough to stay in my head, so I will tell you all about it.  It involves people I know, some of whom you might know, some of whom you won’t.  Please don’t analyse it, hypo-dreams are beyond all hope of analysis.  I’m pretty certain that my brain’s screaming at me to wake up and eat some sugar, so it chucks the weirdest things at me in the hope that something in my head will go “hang on, that’s just plain wrong” and give up the entire sleep scenario as a bad job and try again later.

Firstly, in my dream, I was walking down the street in Brighton, specifically Ditchling Road.  I was walking towards the Flickr market-stall, just past the Caroline of Brunswick.  Round the corner from the proper Flickr shop on London Road.

At this point I should clarify that (as far as I’m aware) there is no such thing as a Flickr shop, never mind a Flickr market-stall.

Anyway, I reached the Flickr market-stall just as Lomokev was arriving from the other direction.

(This may be because I bumped into him at the bus stop the other week)

We were looking at the stuff on the stall and Kev saw a T-shirt he liked – it had, printed on the chest, six of his favourite Flickr pictures.  Actually, six of his favourite Flickr triptychs.  They all had price tags on – like as if each triptych had a price tag, a nice old-fashioned paper one on a piece of white twine, and when the six triptychs were put together and photographed the price tags were left on, so the picture on the T-shirt had six price tags in it.  Kev liked this t-shirt and bought it, presumably with a credit card, cos as soon as he’d paid he realised he had no idea how much it had cost.  He looked at all the little price tags in the picture, and wondered which of those indicated the price of the t-shirt.  I suggested he ask the guy that sold it to him, and when he was told the t-shirt had cost $205, he went off to take it back to the shop.

Next thing I remember, I was looking at Twitter.  My mate Beebo had tweeted a question, can anyone recommend something or other.  And Stephen Fry had replied with a suggestion.  Beebo thanked him, and shortly Beebo and Stephen Fry had become best friends.  Through Twitter.

That’s when I woke up.  And it felt like dragging myself up out of quicksand, I’ve never had such an effort to wake up before, and it was pretty scary.

And then I ate some Haribo, and ice cream, and a Wagon Wheel, and went back to bed.

Diabetic moment of the day

Oh come on.  That was it, you don’t expect more, do you?

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