Letters to Holly

Monday, January 3

Outlaw Fever Dreams

I know I'm bad sick when I have weird dreams.

Last night, I dreamed I was on the commute to the textile mill where I worked one summer. On an overpass, I pulled over and accepted a job application from a man in a car. He was looking for people to warn residents about low-flying airliners. He thought I would be a good prospect because I could read a combination of Latin and Spanish.

Soon after, I decided to take an aggressive stance and steal an airliner. But I couldn't get it off the ground, and I drove it on the interstate. Eventually, I came to a traffic circle, and I took an off-ramp surrounded by tall pier columns. The plane's wings jammed in the columns, and I snuck out an escape hatch. Somehow I managed to blame the theft and subsequent massive traffic back-up on Steve Carrell. The traffic block created a ravaged parade -- think The Road -- as people shambled home and groused about Carrell and the plane theft. I stayed mum. But people started to piece together the crime, and I became paranoid that I'd be discovered. Then Your Sister woke me up. She is currently sitting in court hoping to be excused from jury duty. She left me the makings of turkey-and-tomato biscuits as a sick breakfast.

I still feel like I hold a secret that will be uncovered any minute.

We're supposed to eat buffalo wings tonight, but my throat may not allow it. Or will I overrule the flu? Stay tuned.

Picture of the Day
My head is seasick.

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