Friday, March 09, 2007

Fevers make the best dreams

I've caught some sort of cold. Well, considering I work with the public and take mass transit to and from work, what were the odds that one of the sniffling multitude around me was going to breathe on me and give me something yucky?

This is my second day off work, and the first time in about 24 hours that I can string together coherent thoughts. Yesterday I managed to call my supervisor and croak out, "Sick. Fever. Not coming in." before I lost all track of time. Pretty sure I'll be back on Monday.

Favorite symptom: bizarre dreams. It's like watching some sort of arthouse movie, heavy on symbolism and subtext, light on actual sense. The one that I woke up to this morning featured a walk in the woods with someone I knew at the time (but of course is a stranger to me now) and encountering a little bear cub with a bright red streak on its muzzle. Not blood red, more like fruit punch red -- like something a punker would do to his hair. My companion wanted to stop and pet the bear (come to think of it, the cub looked a lot like my parents' little black dog Pippin), while all I could think was, "Mama bear's around here somewhere, we better get away from her cub or she'll tear us apart."

And then suddenly we were at the shore, this person and I, running some sort of hotel on a beached ocean liner, where we'd call the room numbers "wave 72" instead of "room 72." There was some sort of mystery involving the theft of jewelry that turned out to be (when I finally got to see it) silly souvenir-type stuff -- paua shells and turquoise chips and coral pieces.

Interesting what the mind will do when the body's a little warmer than normal.

2 comments:

G said...

Monday morning - any better now, V?

Don't be in a hurry to get back to where you probably got it from in the first place.

--V said...

Much better now, thanks. Though the voice is a little odd. I've got a low, raspy, kinda sexy Kathleen Turner/Brenda Vaccaro voice on today instead of my usual soprano. When I have a voice at all, that is. A few times already today I've opened my mouth and all I did was squeak.

Funny thing is, only the speaking voice is affected. I can sing just fine. Well, of course I checked. One must sing to the cat. How else will she know it's breakfast time?

Luckily I have no desk hours today. I've heard of singing waiters, but singing reference assistants?