She was a redhead. Most of them are. She was flirting with me and a guy who looked like Ronald Weasley from Harry Potter (also a redhead). He seemed to have the upper hand in gaining her favor. She said I’d have to show her that I was serious about us if we were ever going to be together. Did she say “back together?” Most of my serious relationships have been with redheads. If the Russians ever needed to blackmail me into becoming a sleeper agent, all they’d have to do is send in a redhead. I’d crumble. I wasn’t feeling well. Despite this, we both leaned in for a kiss – my attempt to prove myself worthy. The next thing I know, I missed and somehow kissed Weasley on the neck. I opened my eyes and quickly corrected myself and kissed her. I said I wasn’t thinking right – my brain is muddled by fever. She said she’d take care of me. I woke up.
That was at 3 or maybe 4am, maybe 6am. On and off throughout the day, my brain has been scrambled. I hear the pulse in my ears – the silence can get loud. I got a solid half-day of work in before I had to call it quits and charge half of a sick day. Chills. Dizzy. Aches. Coughing. Several times, I tried to take naps. I was grunting in my sleep. Small grunts. I don’t usually grunt in my sleep – at least I don’t think I do. I’d probably have to ask one of the redheads. In the late afternoon, I was curious about this grunting thing… I didn’t have the attention span to do much of anything else. I tried to record audio of another nap. Aware that I was recording audio made me uncomfortable – almost nervous. My breathing felt uneven. So did my heart rate. Seven minutes of trying – I never fell back asleep. I didn’t get to find out if I was really grunting or just imagining it.
By late yesterday, I could feel this coming on. Something didn’t feel right. My morning and afternoon coffee didn’t taste right. The tickle in the throat was a little more than a tickle. I had developed a voracious appetite. No sooner had I finished dinner and started my evening walk, I was craving pizza. I smelled it, or at least I think I smelled it. Tonight, I’m still craving pizza. I don’t have any pizza in my apartment and I don’t feel like ordering or leaving the house. I guess I’m a feed a cold type of guy, unless the barriers to feeding my cold are as insurmountable as these are.
Ooof – sneezing hurts. Coughing hurts too.
The dream was clearly a cry for help… a reaching out for some kind and compassionate damsel to take care of me. I’m not sure where Weasley came from – maybe just to illustrate how confused I was, or how desperate I was, or how committed I was. “See, even when I feel like crap, I’ll kiss Ronald Weasley to show you that I care.” That makes no sense. Fever dreams seldom do.
When you’re sick, everyone has well-intentioned advice. Drink fluids. Get some rest. Take some flu medication. I’m not a good patient. I prefer to suffer and then document my suffering – as though this is some high road to compassion for others. I may not be able to tell what’s real, but I pay attention to everything. My shoulder is sore there, my head hurts there, what’s that buzzing, or that whir whir whir whir throbbing? I’ll check my temperature throughout the day to make sure it’s not too bad (holding steady at 101 – ok, maybe it has climbed to 102). I was once sick with walking pneumonia and ran a 104 or 105 fever. The ER doc said that had I waited much longer, my brain could have boiled. I’m not so sure it didn’t. That’s me trying to be self-effacing and funny. I try to blunt my misery with jokes. I try not to lose my sense of humor when I’m sick. Maybe just my marbles.