So maybe this conflagration about dreams isn't rubbish after all. At least, now I have something more substantial to throw into the ring. But believe me, I'm not one to discount something simply because it's strange. Truth is stranger than fiction. And last night's dream was certainly strange.
( I've cut this here, in case any of you are easily upset. I wouldn't mind input from others who think they have any to offer. )EDIT (A few Hours Later):
The fever has definitely broken, but breathing still requires great force of will. I've had an unusual sense of Zen since I woke.
No, maybe that's not the right word. At least, it's not the same feeling as the impending death I've grown accustomed to. Don't get pneumonia, kids.
But I think it's safe to say that recovery isn't wishful thinking any more. That's good, because I'm a miserable patient. I ought to remain under self-imposed quarantine for a few days more, just to gather my strength. I don't think I'm still contagious at this point. But that's okay, because I have something of a project today. I'm not sure I should go into the details, but the sense of purpose I felt in my dream has lingered. There's something I ought to do, something I should have done long ago. There's someone I owe a long talk, and an apology, if only I can track her down.
I'm terrified, actually.