Little Blue Pills

Jason Bourne and Jake Gyllenhaal were both in this dream and maybe they were all the “me” character of the dream. It was a bit confused. At one point, from “offstage” of what was happening in the dream I heard someone say, “I’m Jason Bourne. And I’m not sure if that’s even my real name.” I think maybe, as some of my other dreams have gone, I started watching the dream where Jake Gyllenhaal was somehow the protagonist and by the end of the dream it was me. Somewhere in the middle, the two of us, the watcher and the watched, became the same person.

It was a caper, an investigation. It had the amped up feel of a thriller that was (ultimately) to have absolutely no payoff. I started in one place (or Jake did), the dark entryway of a bar (maybe) and a dead body (maybe) and a plastic bag full of pills.

There were three different kinds of pills. There were white pills that looked like elongated grains of rice, there were white pills that looked like aspirins and there were blue pills.

It was the blue pills that were the concern.

These pills were capsules, like Advil liquid gels only a royal blue. I was in a bedroom with this bag of blue pills and behind me was my grandmother and I commenced to separating the blue pills from all the rest of the pills. This sounds like a simple task but it occupied almost the rest of the dream. I was picking out the blue ones two or three at a time before I found that shaking the container a certain way would release the blue ones to the top and I could separate more of them faster, occasionally pushing the rogue white ones to the side. As I laboured over the pills, it occurred to me that when I was done I would need a bottle to put them in. This was only a vague concern, in fact, concern is an overstatement; I was confident I could find a bottle or that my grandmother could get me one. Two blue pills came out in a blister pack and I used my teeth to open the blister pack and free the capsules.

I bit into one of the blue pills by accident and it squirted bitterly in my mouth.

I stopped what I was doing immediately. I didn’t know what these pills were only that they were Bad. I went into the bathroom, careful not to swallow, and I spat into the sink. I pushed my head under the tap and rinsed my mouth with water, spitting again into the basin. I was ultra-sensitive to any new feeling in my mouth or in my body, on guard for something to happen to me, anxious about how much of what was inside the pill might have been absorbed through the dermis of my mouth and tongue and wondering if such a small amount might be enough of a dose to seriously harm me.

I was alarmed but calm.

The real life clock hit 5:50 and my BlackBerry sounded the real alarm.

Picture from Illusive Mind