After enduring almost a week of toxic combinations of cold medicines and flu remedies, I’m feeling healthy again. Last night I even slept without a Nyquil assist. Now, looking back on my week with H1N1, I realize I’ve had some really graphic dreams.
Of course, one stands out among the many.
It was the end of the world. At least as far as I could tell. Thousands of people were making their way across an open desert. Everyone was carrying their most valued possessions. Many strained to bear the weight flat screen TVs, while others had photo albums, jewelry boxes and small pieces of furniture.
Not far ahead of the herd was a massive cliff blocked by an endless line of ornate gold railing. As soon as anyone reached the edge, they’d take a moment with their cherished object and then pitch it over the side. No exceptions. At this point, I entered the scene. I ran through the group empty-handed. While everyone around me mourned the loss of their crap and the impending doom that awaited us, I had another mission. Apparently, the end of the world had inspired me to kiss every single woman in the crowd. It was hilarious and wonderful. I made my way through the masses, covered in lipstick, with absolutely nothing to lose.
I woke up and Cristi was getting ready for work. As she rushed by the bedroom door, I stopped her in the hallway, grabbed her by the shoulders and told her about my apocalyptic vision and all the making out. She just laughed. I suppose trying to find any meaning in any of it is silly. But I will say that it has inspired me to spend a little more time kissing my wife—just as soon as I have a clean bill of health.