Ever since that fateful day I talk about in the post that I linked above, I could say that I've been living, somewhat, in a dream. A dream that I could exist harmoniously, sipping on the delicious nectar of a cold brew all while enjoying a full and happy life. And it didn't hurt that as the dream materialized around me, I was in the subtropical utopia I pined for. And based on that impression I found myself making a new life here in Florida just over a year later.
Yesterday's visit, Back to Where it All Began, SeaWorld Orlando, saw another unexpected Infamous moment, symbolic perhaps, indicating that this dream may finally be over. I have awaken.
Now I didn't set out to make any statement or dramatic recreation with a new twist like I had thought of doing for years now. You see, I've been down the road before where I'd wanted to call a halt to this dream of mine. I wanted to retrace the steps that brought me to this and right a wrong. The idea was that I would buy a beer, or perhaps two small ones if I could find them, and go back to that bridge near the hospitality center in SeaWorld, find the nearest trash can, and dump them. This may have caused an eyebrow or two to perk up if anybody was around to witness it, but it was better than what I really wanted to do and that is, to simply dump them right into the fake stream that ran below the bridge. This would likely get me ejected from the park if people saw it. Plus what's more, now that bridge runs over not just a decorative stream, but the rapids ride Infinity Falls.
But I guess nature had another idea. And frankly, I think it's much, much better.
Shortly after I entered the park, I made my way to the Flamecraft Bar, and ordered a draft pint of Michelob Ultra. My intent was not to dump it. I was going to drink it. And it was going to be the first in several, perhaps many that I would drink, not feeling the need to end the dream anytime today. Today I would get loopy and ride the loopy coasters!
But I hadn't been feeling too hot to begin with. The walk from my nearby hotel site, Hilton Grand Vacations at SeaWorld, to my seat at this bar, seemed arduous. It was a gorgeous day and hadn't even broken into the 80s yet since it was still 11:00 a.m. yet I was sweating big time. My total lack of exercise and these powerful drugs of mine combined with relatively poor sleep to make me feel 20 years older than I actually am. So instead of settling nicely in my belly, by the time I finished my second one, and paid my tab, I was feeling not loopy but woozy. Of course it could have been the amount of the tab as well, that being, $32.41. For two beers. My fucking god.
I had to pee badly, even though I had skipped my Farxiga today in order to have less bathroom trips. I also skipped Gabapentin in order to feel less woozy. It didn't matter. I got to the urinal, unzipped, and before I could take Little Mike out, I had to rush in the luckily empty restroom to a toilet stall and puked the contents right into it. Both beers, the waters I had with them, even the Almond Joy and the Diet Coke I had on the walk over, all spewed out. I flushed the mess down, washed my face and hands, looked in the mirror and thought "Well there it is. It's over." My body had made the decision for me.
I made my way to a dolphin show but I didn't risk any rides. It would have been just dry heaves that I had to ralph again, but I didn't want to risk even that. I was still feeling nauseous and still feeling exhausted so I called it a day at the park after only a couple hours.
Here it is the next day and I'm back home now. I don't think I'm going back to SeaWorld. I have a great deal of mixed feelings about all of this.
More about the title. The question mark is my first acknowledgment of reality in this statement. It feels over. But all pink clouds feel like the end of a dream. And all pink clouds are just what they are. The period after the second Dreams End, non-possessive this time, indicates the reality that no matter what path I choose, in a dream state or wide awake, it'll eventually all come to an end. There will eventually come that final day when I truly will drink no more. The real question is, whether dreamy or woke, will the days before be numbered in happiness or nightmare? I guess that part is still up to me.