Fever Dreams

Still sick. And, now, I may not be able to run in the half marathon I've been training for for the last 3 months. I saw a new doctor yesterday, despite my prejudice about medicinal practices in Queens. I assumed any doctor in Queens was kind of going to be like Dr. Nick from the Simpsons. I was only half right. The most suspect part about the office was a framed (I'm assuming, not original) Van Gogh painting that was labeled as a Monet.

What drove me to the doctor was a "Type A" fever dream I had this weekend. For the last few nights, I've been waking up in the middle of night covered in sweat (ew). This weekend, I woke up next to a tidy pile of pillows according to size, and then on top of that my sweatshirt and the shirt I was wearing folded like I'd been working at the Gap for years (sorry for the n00d imagery).

This isn't the first time for weird, sick dream behavior: I've fallen out of bed and woken up on the floor and I've jumped out of bed and screamed at my ex-boyfriend like he was an intruder - fun for everyone!

The doctor, a fellow runner person, prescribed me some pretty heavy medications to try and have me in fighting shape for Sunday. The least I hope for is to not wake up with my closet organized by color, or me alphabetizing the contents of my apartment building's trash in another sweaty fit.