Doom Dreams

[cranefly]

DM and I are in a room at this big hotel.  There must be a convention going on.  DM is standing near me while I sit on the sofa looking through a brochure.  I'm blathering away about its contents, and it suddenly occurs to me that DM has been unusually silent.

I glance up and am freaked to see DM pale as a ghost, eyes unfocused, on the point of collapse.  I jump up and guide him into a sprawl on the sofa.  I need to call 911, I keep thinking.  Yes, that's what I need to do.  Right?  But I'm frozen, unable to act.

Then DM says, "Give me the phone."  So I grab the phone and try to give it to him.  But he says, "No, a rotary phone."  I'm baffled.  Meanwhile, DM shifts pillows about and finds a rotary phone.  He lifts the receiver and dials a number.

Someone apparently answers, because DM says into the phone, "Yeah, I've got a temperature of twenty-eight four."

And I'm thinking, twenty-eight four?  That sounds really serious!  I need to call 911!.  But then I'm thinking, Wait a second.  Is that Celsius?  I struggle to convert Celsius to Fahrenheit but am getting nowhere, and that's when I wake up.

I'm shaken and can't get back to sleep for a couple hours.

This happened two nights ago after DM first reported serious issues with the Pom.  I think that was the genesis.

P.S.:  DM?  Lose the Celsius, okay?  I can't do math in my dreams.