Remember the episode of I Love Lucy when she was faking being sick to get Ricky's attention? He got back at her by bringing in a fake doctor who diagnosed Lucy with "the gobloots" (pronounced "go blutes"). To make her think she was seeing blue, Ricky replaced the lightbulbs with blue ones. Poor Lucy.
Today I had something like the gobloots. After the throat thing cleared up, I developed a horrendous bronchial cough. The doc gave me pills for it and I took one. Within an hour, I was wracked with seizing stomach pains. Looked at the prescription warnings. Side effect: Upset stomach.
Now 24 hours later, I still feel like I'm in the 30th hour of birthing triplets. This kind of pain brings on weird hallucinations when you try to sleep. I dreamed I was wrestling an angry weasel in the back seat of my mom's old Ford Fairlane. I kept trying to hold the weasel by the scruff of its scrawny neck so it wouldn't leap on my and chew me to shreds. If I could only roll down the window -- it was a 1965 Ford so you had to roll down the windows -- I could throw the snarling beast out. But it was wiggling so bad, I couldn't get a good grip on it.
Then I dreamed that Vince Vaughn and I were in Venice (how alliterative!) and he was buying me ice cream.
When I woke up, Dodgeball was on.