So I’ve had this cold for almost a week now, and for a few days it was pretty touch-and-go with regards to whether I was going to survive this or whether we were all going to perish under a deluge of cough syrup and whining. The thing that is most frustrating (for me) about getting sick with a run-of-the-mill cold is that I sleep terribly when I’m sick, which compounds the general yuckiness of being under the weather by making it impossible to really rest as one is supposed to when they are ill. I thrash around pretty violently all night long, caught in these cyclical half-awake half-asleep dreams that make up for in boringness what they lack in length. They are aggressively dull, and I do not exaggerate here. It’s the same monotonous dream, 5 minutes at a time, all night long. I go to sleep dreaming about how I saw someone on Twitter mention cooking scrambled eggs in ghee, and I wake up dreaming about how I saw someone on Twitter mention cooking scrambled eggs in ghee. Every time I wake up, I look at the clock and nearly weep with despair because I am so tired and so disoriented and there is still so much night left to get through.
On Friday night, I dreamed about having intense, passionately evangelistic conversations with various people about how they should watch the show Portlandia, because it is the funniest show on TV right now and they’re seriously missing out if they’re not watching it every week. The following night, I dreamed I was at a party and someone brought up the show Portlandia and I said to them, “Wow, that is SO WEIRD, I was just dreaming last night about telling everyone I know about that show!” I … don’t know what’s wrong with my fevered brain. Not only am I proselytizing about a show I HAVE NEVER EVEN WATCHED (seriously — not even a single episode) but the next night I really go for broke and incorporate a weirdly meta throwback to the previous night’s inexplicable topic, just to keep the world’s most boring narrative flowing in the right direction.