Late last week, my husband came home sniffling and coughing. “Don’t worry,” he reassured me. “It’s just allergies.”
By Monday night, I was sniffling and coughing, too. (Riiiight. Allergies my ass.)
Brian came home from class bearing a heavy bag from the Target pharmacy. In it were all the goodies required for me to power through a head cold. Zycam, Advil Cold and Sinus, tissues, and the best ingredient of all—Sudafed. (Let it be said that Sudafed is mana from the gods.)
For the last 3 nights, I’ve been doping up and hitting the sheets, ready for a night of drug-induced sleep. When I say that my dreams have been memorable, that’s a major understatement.
Why else would one have a blog if not so she could share her most bizarre dreams?
Night one of Sudafed. I was absolutely worn out from a strenuous workout with friend and trainer, Dana. The head cold had hit me, and hit me hard. The last thing I remember was setting my alarm clock. In what felt like less than 4 minutes, it was going off, and I was sitting up in bed, giggling like an idiot. Because, in my drug-addled state, I’d dreamed a dream unlike any other I’ve ever had.
In it, Dana and I were wandering around in the woods. It became apparent very early on that it wasn’t just a regular old bunch of trees and moss that we were traipsing through. No, indeedy. We were wandering around the Forbidden Forest. (You know, from Harry Potter?) We spoke in hushed whispers, hoping not to invite the attentions of unwanted creepy crawlies. Finally, as we scampered over a particularly muddy crest, we saw what we had come looking for.
A blue, sparkly unicorn.
There he stood in all his glory. Dana and I were awed. She leaned over and whispered to me, “Do you think that’s him? Do you think he’ll be able to teach us what we want to know?”
“All we can do is ask,” I replied. And so, slowly, quietly, we made our way down to the unicorn. As we approached him, he slowly opened one eye. And then, miraculously, he spoke.
“The next class doesn’t start for 20 more minutes. The mats are over by the wall.”
Twenty minutes later, Dana and I took our first yoga class from the unicorn master. Dana couldn’t stop laughing, I spent my time trying to ignore her and meditate, and the unicorn was too busy murmuring directions for downward facing dog to notice.
I was well into day 2 of the head cold. I could barely breathe, my head was throbbing, and it felt like my eyeballs were about to pop out of my skull from all the pressure in my sinuses. I couldn’t WAIT to pop another Sudafed and hit the hay. Brian and I finished watching the newest episode of Blue Bloods (which had saved to our DVR.) As soon as it was over, I crawled into bed and into oblivion.
I woke up Wednesday morning with a giant smile on my face. Not only was I feeling better, but I’d just had a dream about Donnie Wahlberg.
I know. Color you surprised.
In the dream, I was back in high school. I was pretty, popular, and petite. The last bell had just rung, and I headed to my car in the school parking lot. The roaring engine of a motorcycle filled my ears, and my heart skipped a beat. It was Donnie–the leather-wearing, bike-riding, bad boy at school. And he was heading straight for me.
He asked me if I wanted a ride home. I giggled and said yes. And the dream ended with me climbing on the back of his motorcycle and riding off into the sunset.
Yes, it really did. No, I’m not lying.
By last evening, I was feeling better, but still slightly nasally. Brian and I completed a 2-mile jog earlier in the afternoon, and the only way I got through it was with Brian’s enthusiasm and ingenious idea to chase me making zombie noises when I started to slow down. By 10, I was ready to call it a night. In one last attempt to knock this cold out for good, I took my Sudafed like a good little girl and turned out my bedside lamp.
I bolted upright in bed far before sunrise, cold sweat trickling down my neck. And the vivid dream I’d just had playing in my brain.
I was walking alone down a quiet, country highway. The rifle in my hand was heavy, cold steel. Every single sense was tingling, and I knew I was on alert, though I wasn’t sure why. Every footfall sounded like a clap of thunder to me. And as I rounded the bend, the sound of someone following me was unmistakable.
And when I turned around, my worse fears were realized.
I was being chased by a zombie. And I had led it straight toward camp.
Fortunately, in the dream, I found my bad-ass Buffy attitude and whooped some zombie tush. However, the encounter woke me from a dead sleep, heart pounding. With fear? Adrenaline? Excitement?
I don’t know. But zombies seriously creep me out. It’s the poor dental hygiene. Oh, and their deep desire for wanting to eat my brains.