The Product of a Fevered Mind

The only good thing about being this sick is the fever dreams. Yesterday, I dreamed that I was on some show that was apparently a cross between America’s Next Top Model and The Amazing Race. First, we were going to hang glide and at first, I was all excited about it, but then all of a sudden I remembered that I am afraid of heights (which I really am, though not to the level of a real phobia) and I panicked and started to scream to the pilot to let me down. Then we were supposed to catch a plane to Japan, but we had to hurry (because we were in a race—against whom, I haven’t the vaguest idea, but we were racing), so we were running in these ridiculous get-ups—kimonos and crazy hair and wild makeup (because we were on America’s Next Top Model). We got to the top of an escalator and everyone started to run down (because we were racing), but all of a sudden, I got dizzy and started to fall, so I grabbed on to the rail and called out for help, but all of the other girls kept running (because we were in a race) except Asako—the paralegal I shared an office with last summer was apparently also a contestant on this American’s Next Top Amazing Model Race—but she couldn’t get back up the escalator. Then these two thirtysomething ex-sorority types came up behind me and started to shove me down the escalator because I was blocking them from going down, and I was angry that they woudn’t help me, so I grabbed the bouquet of flowers that one of them was inexplicably holding—though I knew somehow that they were very, very important to her—and as I fell down the escalator, I shredded them into a million pieces and threw them at her.

Then the phone rang and I woke up. Man, am I glad my dreams aren’t normally so crazy. Though I must say, it’s better than anything I’ve seen on TV lately.