It was day four of being medicated to treat a nasty case of bronchitis. While the z-pack of antibiotics hadn't yielded any side effects, the codeine cough syrup certainly had. For some reason, that particular medicine was causing your sleep time to become, you guessed, what an acid trip felt like.

The first night you'd found yourself dream-working in an underground department store, where sharks and fishes shopped as though they were humans, and paid in seashells.

A nap had yielded a very vivid experience of being a horse-back jumping champion, where you were apparently Russian, and almost disqualified from the Olympics for using a certain type of hand lotion which was banned.

The second night brought you the vision of going for a midnight snack in your house, only to open the fridge to the pickles putting on a cabaret-type show. Dream-you had applauded them and closed the fridge as their curtain call.

After that, you'd taken a break from the medicine. While the dreams had been funny to recall, you didn't like waking up feeling confused and still as sick as before.

A day and a half though without the medicine had proven to be a mistake, and your cough had returned, possibly even worse than before. You knew it was probably because you were getting better and all the junk in your body was finally breaking up to be expelled. But you hurt, and you felt crappy, and decided the bizarre dreams were worth it if it was going to accelerate your healing.

Which is how you found yourself after a midday nap calling Adam to relay your latest dream. Your fiancé laughed about your surreal sleep experiences, but was also concerned, even after the doctor told you it was a documented, and not serious, side-effect.

"Hey," Adam answered the phone.

"What up chicken butt?"

"You're so weird," he chuckled. "I'm just leaving the gym. What are you doing? How are you feeling?"

"Not terrible," you replied. "But I just had I think the MOST fucked up of my dreams."

"Do I want to know?"

"Basically, every time we had sex, I ended up pregnant. And not just one kid, like twins and triplets sometimes. So, we had like, twenty kids to start. We were the god damn Duggars."

"The who?"

"Reality TV show family? 19 Kids and Counting? TLC?"

"…sure?"

"Ugh, anyway, so yea, we just having kids and kids and I was like sooo done with it, so I made you get a vasectomy. Except, it didn't fucking work! So legit when I woke up, I think we had like almost 50 kids in our house. The old lady in the shoe had nothing on us."

"That's…a weird dream, definitely," Adam agreed. He paused for a moment. "Baby, I don't think you should take any more of this medicine. It's really messing with you. Is it worth it?"

"It's just making me have really bizarre sleepy times," you argued. "I tried not taking it; I felt like shit. And, I mean, at least this side effect is amusing?"

"I don't find having to get a vasectomy amusing," he countered.

"It's not like it was real, you big baby."

"What if it is though? What if it's not a dream, but like, a prediction? For the future?" he teased.

"Oh? Am I Miss Cleo now?"

"I don't know, you could be," Adam claimed. "Who knows what this medicine is really doing to you. Maybe it's tapping into some weird part of your subconscious or something. And I'm gonna tell you right now, I cannot handle that many kids. I'll be lucky to handle two, maybe three."

"Well, then, it's decided. You're getting a vasectomy. That's final," you stated. "And we'll make sure it works."

"What the fuck? Why is this on me?"

"BECAUSE. It's way easier for you then it would be for me as a woman. They'd have to take like, all my organs out. That's major. That's not happening."

"OK, OK, time out," Adam spoke. "This conversation needs to just end. We aren't even having any kids any time soon. This isn't even worth discussing. Your weird ass dreams aren't going to decide what our lives with be."

"You're the one who wondered if they were premonitions for our future!"

"Well, that was a joke, and shouldn't be taken seriously," he explained.

"Know what I just realized? Cleo is an anagram for Cole! What if it is a sign? What if I am psychic?!"

"Dear God…stop.…"

"I think I'm having another vision! I see you…bringing me home ice cream…yea…and Chipotle."

"You're the worst," Adam declared.

"Oh! And wine!"

"You cannot drink and take medicine."

"I also see…that as a thank you…I totally go down on you…or fall asleep on you. It's kind of blurry. I'm not sure. I think it'll depend on the wine."

You said nothing more, grinning to yourself, thoroughly entertained with the conversation. Adam was equally silent on the phone, which you suspected was him trying to appear annoyed, even though you knew he wasn't.

"You done now?" he finally asked.

"You bringing me tacos?"

"Only if you promise me to stop thinking you're psychic."

"You started it," you pointed out.

"And I regret it deeply," Adam assured you, making you giggle.

"Fine, deal."

"Thank you. I'll be home in a bit."

"Sweet! Love you!"

"Love you too," he replied. "Even if you're more psycho than psychic."

Author note: I made myself laugh writing this, no lie.

Also, the underwater store & pickles dancing dream are actual dreams I had way back in high school. I recently had one where I saw on Instagram that Charlie Sheen had bought my childhood home and was throwing a pool party so my brother and I raced back home (mind you we live in VA now and we're from NY) to go to it. My brother was really stoked in the dream.

Guys, get good sleep. It's important. But document your weird dreams for future reference maybe. Or at the very least to have a hilarious story to tell.