I don’t get sick very often, but that just makes it worse when I do. I freely admit to being the stereotypical male baby when I’m under the weather. This week I’ve had congestion, coughing, sore throat, and hiccups triggered by coughing (the worst). I’ve been miserable. People say to get plenty of rest when you’re sick, but I haven’t slept more than two consecutive hours all week. On the surface, it looks good to say I slept from 2 AM to noon, but not so good when you consider that I was up at 3:00, 5:00, 6:15, 8:00, 9:15, and 10:00. To make matters worse, sometimes it took 15-20 minutes to fall asleep again. It’s been like this for three nights in a row.
Against that backdrop of unrestful sleep, last night I had a dream. Like most dreams, the particulars are hazy. There was some sort of disaster in a city, and reporters were trying to get in to cover it. In my dream I could see the whole city spread out before me. I was responsible for granting access to the media -- anything that the world learned about what was happening had to pass through me first. Every time I gave out information, it was accompanied by a cough (or two or three). It became hard to tell whether I was asleep or awake. The dream continued through several bathroom breaks, picking up where it left off. I was on the verge of tears because I had a job to do, but every time I coughed it hurt worse. I felt trapped, even doomed -- my throat became raw and my chest ached, but I couldn’t escape the awesome responsibilities connected to this disaster. After hours of this, I finally realized that I didn’t have to know everything that was going on and began to let the reporters do their own thing. I felt like a tremendous burden had been lifted, and I seemed to cough less. Or maybe it was just that Theraflu strip I put on my tongue at 6:15.
The dream interpreters would have a field day with this, I am sure.