Yesterday morning I woke up from a bad dream, not ready to get out of bed.
In my dream, I was just trying to get someplace. We had 4 hours to do something, I didn't live far away.
But I left an hour late, then my car moved slow. It was like a Scion car, but you drove it with a kinda... I guess, stick. It was able to turn and maneuver pretty well, but the speed was barely over 15 MPH. In other words, I was barely moving.
I don't recall why I left the car, but for some reason I did. Next thing I knew...
I was walking through houses and stores to get to the place. I was almost half way there, with 2 hours left. I stopped to take a call from the people I was on my way to meet. One was sympathetic, but the others were upset that I, the only girl in the group, was the reason they were running late. So I got up and started out again. I was very close to them, I could feel it, but I'd lost my phone.
I had to go back and find it. I remember starting out, figuring I'd get the thing done, then go get it... But I needed the stupid thing and couldn't. So back through the doors I went, out onto a different street and nothing was the same. Worse, the stores were closing and I was running out of time.
Through one set of doors I went, hoping to get back. But this one was 'closed' and they yelled at me, threatened me... I called my phone from their phone, no one answered. As I went to hang it up, I dropped and thought I'd broken the phone, but all I'd done was broken an outer shell of the phone. Putting it back together, while being yelled at by the shop worker, I woke up.
Only now, I didn't want to get up. I didn't want to start the day. Everything felt wrong and only being in bed felt right. I was tired and just wanted to curl up and hide.
I finally had to get up to help dad with something, only to go back to bed. At about 10am I got up and ate breakfast, but I was cold, had trouble sitting still and focusing and just wanted to go back to bed.
After a while, I did just that. On the pretense of working out to help my back, I laid down and up with the blankets and curled up went me.
For over an hour, I slept on and off, fidgeting and moving all over the place. As I was thinking about getting up, my mind dreamed of just that several times. Each one was a mistake as something bad happened. Finally, I decided I'd rather risk getting up than keep trying to sleep, only to dream about it.
Nothing bad happened and so, I sat down to write. Without too much work, it reached 2:30 in the afternoon and I'd done next to nothing.
The rest of my day passed slowly, as my attack finally let go. But only after I'd spent most of the time either in bed or trying to calm myself down.
Hate days like that. They leave me feeling weak and powerless.