Excuse me a moment while I run a quick equipment check.
Ears? Partially functional.
Diagnosis? Business as usual.
Day thirteen of my super lame illness marks no real improvement and, in fact, a decidedly worse headache (rendered even more horrific every time I cough.) However, this level of sickliness combined with the not-so-subtle aid of an overdose of Nyquil Cold & Flu has lent itself to extended time asleep. I’ve been logging ten and eleven hours a night, embarrassingly enough. On the upside, I had a particularly colorful (and funny, in hindsight) dream last night I thought I’d share in the hopes of making up for my shameful lack of blogging the last couple weeks:
It was one of those ‘end of the world apocalypse’ events and everyone was moving out on foot with what they could carry. We were all in sort of an old wild west town: the buildings were made of wood and the roads were just dirt. I was traveling with a good friend of mine and had packed rather thoughtfully for a variety of problems down the road. I felt good about our chances of making it, and really didn’t have a sense that I’d forgotten anything important.
As we were heading out of town, I recognized the little lean-to shop owned by the devil (yes, THE devil) and we decided to stop. I honestly can’t remember why. I don’t know if my friend (let’s call her J) wanted to or if I suggested it. In hindsight, my vague sense was that the devil was like a bad man you can’t quite shake: you know you shouldn’t return his calls or let him keep coming around, but you just can’t seem to help yourself. It’s kind of fun in a twisted way.
Thus, we were in the devil’s shack and he had a little kitchen in the back. He offered to make us some food for the road and my friend, J, wandered off while we waited. I chatted with the devil for a while and he was both teasing and flirtatious. At one point, he mentioned that J would soon meet a man and marry him.
“Will she be happy?” I asked.
“It won’t matter,” the devil told me, “She’ll be too in love with love to notice…at least for the first couple years.”
It sounded about right, and I could see things going down that way. I told him that I’d like to know what would happen to me, but I was kind of afraid to ask. He just laughed and walked away.
Later it was time to leave, and I opened my bag. I realized immediately that several things were missing, including two pairs of scissors and an exacto knife: critical items for the journey ahead. I confronted the devil about this and he smiled and told me that J had given him the items.
“Why? Why would she do that to us?”
“Because I asked her to and she couldn’t resist me. You would have done the same thing to her had I asked.”
Somehow I realized he was right, so I wasn’t mad at my friend, but DESPERATE to get at least one pair of scissors and the knife back. I began searching frantically through his shop, but couldn’t find them anywhere. I even started snooping through drawers and in piles of clothes looking for them, and nothing. I was so angry at him for toying with me. I knew he didn’t need both the scissors AND the knife, but that he took them just to upset me and hinder us on our journey.
I also knew we needed to leave – it would be dark soon – but I was terrified to go on without any way to cut anything. Plus, being incredibly stubborn, I hated to walk away from this game the loser. I went back to the devil and pleaded with him to return just one of the items he’d taken.
“If I give it to you, will you go away?”
“Yes, but I need a pair of scissors or a knife. Just one. If you give me back just one, we’ll leave.”
He laughed and pulled out a tiny sewing kit: the kind you buy for $2.99 at Target that comes with those awful, miniature flimsy scissors that can barely cut through the sewing thread. I hadn’t realized he’d taken this, but since it contained a pair of (virtually worthless) scissors, I knew he had me and there was no argument to be made. I could see it on his face that he was delighted to be both fulfilling my request and yet screwing me over so significantly.
I took the sewing kit and we left. All the while I tried to console myself that at least I had a way to sew if it became necessary.
Down the road I came to a river, and saw that people were jumping it. The water was moving fast and there were Class IV rapids and children were leaping in and being swept along. Horrified, I asked what was going on and was informed that – if you survived it – the water would take you all the way to Astoria, Oregon in just a few hours.
I realized that was much better time than I could ever make on foot, but it looked very dubious that anyone would actually live through that. Thus, I signaled to my friend that we should start walking and take our chances on land. We headed out (and thankfully I’d forgotten about the scissors…at least for the time being), and I woke up.