One good thing about being sick, or more aptly, the only good thing about being sick, is the freaky fever-induced dreams one gets to experience. Have a gander at this one:
Sean and I were vacationing in some evil-governed tropical locale, like Columbia or something. Presumably, we were visiting his older sister (note: he doesn't HAVE an older sister), who was living there with her litter of children.
Anyway. So, we're alternately backpacking through a lush tropical jungle and shopping for light fixtures in a gift shop (you know how these things make perfect sense in dreams....), when suddenly an olive-green jeep full of uniformed men pulls up. We were a bit startled, but the man who approached us seemed friendly enough. In a heavy accent, he asked if we were visiting for the first time. We replied that yes, we were. He then asked if we had seen the famous, rare Gimlet Bird that inhabited the areas (I don't actually remember what he called the bird, "gimlet" seems interesting enough). We said no, we hadn't.
So, the man proceeds to jiggle around some branches of a nearby tree and produce this bird straight out of something by Lewis Carroll. It was fushia, yellow, green, blue, orange...it had a little horn for a beak and little suction cups to help it climb the tree, Fairythin wings beat rapidly on his/her back.
Entranced, we watched the bird for some time. We thanked the man, and he excused himself. When we came out of our freaky Lewis Carroll bird reverie, the man was gone. It was then that I happened to glance at Sean's backpack, which was sitting open next to a tree (mine was still on my back).
It was filled with blocks of cocaine.
I gestured to Sean, trying not to appear alarmed. He looked over at the bag, then looked back at me with widened eyes. Recognizing that we were the victims of some kind of setup attempt, we turned tail and began to walk nonchalantly (so as not to draw attention to ourselves) out of the jungle/gift shop. At a distance, we could see the uniformed men shouting to each other; so we began to run.
As is typical of dreams, I couldn't run very fast. I remember telling Sean to go ahead as fast as he could, saying they wouldn't bother me because I was already wearing a backpack (not sure of the logic there, but anyway...). Reluctantly, he ran off, his purple-pink sweatshirt (of paintball fame) streaking through the forest.
Not sure how, but we ended up back at his older sister's house eating vanilla ice cream with chocolate sprinkles (or "jimmies" to you Bostonians...) with her 6 or 7 children. Then, I realized I was late for my Social Marketing class group meeting, so I grabbed a calzone and headed for the library.
Whoa. That nyquil's some heavy stuff.