Germs and dorky dreams

This sinus infection has all kinds of effects on my daily life. But you know the war between germs and drugs is at full throttle when the weird, vivid dreams hit.

Here's what I dreamt in the wee hours.

Two mom-and-pop stores, across the street from each other, battle for customers. Run by Chinese immigrants, the old, wooden structures have some of the same clientele. One has a tiny sit-down diner, but with only one cook, service is, well, as good as it's going to be. As I sit there waiting with friends for my food, Colt Brennan sits down by us with his friends. We chat for a while and I say, "Man, you're more of a dork than I am."

Colt laughed it off and we both knew that the real dork is me.

Later, I'm at the other Chinese store in search of a remedy for my cold. Instantly the owner, Kellum, diagnoses me. "You have an enlarged lung," he explains, noting my sinus infection and all the dripping through my throat. "Bring your hand."

Standing along the rows of giant jars of cracked seeds and dried this-and-that, I offer my hand and he pours some rock salt into it. He also sells me another remedy, and I'm on my way.

I'm not sure if this dream happened in the middle of the night (before or after a fit of coughing that woke me up) or early in the morning, which is when we tend to remember most of our dreams.

I'm not sure if the Sudafed will continue to bring my nightime voyages to life. Maybe tomorrow morning I'll be writing about standing in the batter's box against Derek Tatsuno. Or I could be an assistant to Riley Wallace, trying to talk him into adopting Paul Westhead's wild system.