Sickness and Dreams

I sit here Sunday morning, sick as a dog (something dogs, no doubt, wonder about) with a cold brought home by my sister-in-law. Yes, she allegedly got it first. But how can I be sure? After all, last Monday, my golf game went to pot as we approached the back nine and that is often caused by a lack of balance. That lack of balance is subtle, it causes you sway oh so imperceptibly and thus strike the ball where it shouldn't be struck. The ball goes left... or right... or too high... or too low... in any event, somewhere clearly unintended.

That continued on Wednesday. As my frustration grew greater, my scores grew worse, my temper grew meaner. I was not a pleasant person to be around. On Friday, the pattern continued. But by early Friday evening, I was in physical misery. I could not concentrate, my sinuses were full and applying great pressure, causing that headache that defies all painkillers. That headache has not let up since then. I went to bed at 8:30 PM, heavily dosed on Nyquil... allowing me to sleep until 12:15 AM.

It's a funny thing about Nyquil sleep. It is oblivion. More like passing out than sleep. There are usually no dreams I can recall, just nothingness and then, *poof*, the awakening. There is no drowsiness that I can recall, no calming period before Morpheus wraps you in his arms and takes away the cares and anxieties of the day. You just lay down and then you are awake. You do not actually feel rested. Of course, I rarely wake up feeling rested anyway, Nyquil or no, so that is not unique to the experience.

Eventually, sickness thrusts through the Nyquil blanket and provides the weird dream or two. And that is what I woke to this morning. I will recount it as best I can now...

Faye and I were on a trip somewhere, stopping for a night at some hotel. For some odd reason, I was assigned the task of washing some clothes. Though I am sure there was more leading up to that, I recall only trying to carry the clothes back to the room. It is if that is where the dream starts. I am having a bit of trouble carrying the clothes, they keep slipping from my arms and falling to the ground. Apparently, the laundry room is accessible only from the outside as I must go in through the lobby after traversing the parking lot.

For some unknown reason I stop by the desk and find, to my surprise, a young lady who looks familiar but whom I cannot place. She is from somewhere in my past. As we chatted without names, Faye strolls up and I must introduce her. I am stuck and must admit I do not know her name. She knows mine because she had said she recognized it in the computer guest list. But now she cannot seem to recall how we know each other.

We stumble over words for a few minutes before I find myself awake, pondering the meaning of it all. Why was this young lady still young when I am in my late 60's? Why can't I recall her name or the circumstances of our familiarity? What does it all mean, if it means anything at all?

It's the sickness I have come down with and nothing more, I reason. Though reason is not possible today.