My immune system has been battling this con crud (or post-con crud of whatever it is) for many days. Since it hit me really hard Thursday, and then by the weekend I was beginning to feel a lot better, I thought I was getting over it.

Michael came down sick the day after the con, and more than a week later is still not well. So he had commented Monday evening that I had really lucked out. I didn’t disagree with him outloud, because I did think I was recovering faster than he was, but I also knew I wasn’t well, yet.

Then Tuesday morning we both slept through both alarms, and my head and throat hurt way more than they had on my worst day previously, and I had a fever. So I didn’t go into the office. I worked a bit more than half the day from home, took a couple of naps, and tried to take it easy.

This morning, I woke up before the first alarm. I went to the front door and looked outside, and the day was beautiful: a hint of recent rain in the air, a cool but clear day. I took a shower and proceeded with getting ready. I got to the front door and opened it and it was raining super, super hard, flooded street, and there, trying to maneuver a beautiful, green 1969 Corvair Convertible through the flood waters, was Whoopi Goldberg. Of course, I ran out to try to help her!

And then I started coughing so hard I woke myself up. I rolled over and saw that it was almost time for the second alarm to go off. It took me about five minutes to get it through my head that everything I just wrote about in that paragraph was a dream. I had dreamed that I got up, et cetera, et cetera. Obviously the Whoopi Goldberg part was a dream, but everything before that had been so real.

I still have a fever. Today I have a cough. I’m going to work from home, again.

But the worst part of the dumb dream thing isn’t the disorientation I felt this morning while I trying to wake up and figure out what was real.

It’s the fact that there is no green Corvair convertible parked on our block.