Cooking for Aliens?
I woke up this morning and headed straight for the kitchen – to cook. Something possessed me to make chicken marsala, boiled potatoes and brocolli.
Maybe the urge to cook for hours this morning had something to do with the fatalistic dreams I had last night. They were so vivid that I could recount most of the details several hours later - I was on a sidewalk, looked up and a planet resembling Saturn, but was orange and purple with delicate scrolled designs attached, was low and moving very quickly and I knew instantly something was terribly wrong.
Basically, what ended up happening was we were being attacked by some other-worldly creatures. At one point someone was admiring my blue high heels and I told them they were antiques - because it's practical to be wearing antique high heels when you have to run for your life. At least I was stylish in my dreams.
There I was, hanging in the sky by nothing more than my arms wrapped around metal and the people inside trying to pull me in to safety. Time stood still and I could hear my thoughts telling me to focus. And then I opened my eyes and I was safely tucked away in my bed.
So me, the Non-Cook, and my urgency to cook this morning may have something to do with making my last meal, and I won't have to worry about new recipes anymore! Maybe I'll be a famous chef for the aliens. Maybe NASA will contact me to work with them as a visionary and I can escape The Hood. Maybe the psychiatric ward will be calling for less glamorous reasons.
And maybe I read something somewhere that put that little story in my head.
The mind. It's a terrible thing to waste.
Maybe the urge to cook for hours this morning had something to do with the fatalistic dreams I had last night. They were so vivid that I could recount most of the details several hours later - I was on a sidewalk, looked up and a planet resembling Saturn, but was orange and purple with delicate scrolled designs attached, was low and moving very quickly and I knew instantly something was terribly wrong.
Basically, what ended up happening was we were being attacked by some other-worldly creatures. At one point someone was admiring my blue high heels and I told them they were antiques - because it's practical to be wearing antique high heels when you have to run for your life. At least I was stylish in my dreams.
The next fun-filled adventure was on top of some extremely tall and narrow mountain peak that I knew was about to fall over. These two people jumped over the side and the rest of us stood there in horror until we heard them laughing.
Apparently, they knew there was a ledge on the side and it was “safe” - until their weight was too much and the structure began to tilt and crumble. I edged my way back to something resembling a ski gondola where the rest of the people were, and with my back to it I linked my arms inside the window just as the mountain collapsed beneath me.
Apparently, they knew there was a ledge on the side and it was “safe” - until their weight was too much and the structure began to tilt and crumble. I edged my way back to something resembling a ski gondola where the rest of the people were, and with my back to it I linked my arms inside the window just as the mountain collapsed beneath me.
There I was, hanging in the sky by nothing more than my arms wrapped around metal and the people inside trying to pull me in to safety. Time stood still and I could hear my thoughts telling me to focus. And then I opened my eyes and I was safely tucked away in my bed.
So me, the Non-Cook, and my urgency to cook this morning may have something to do with making my last meal, and I won't have to worry about new recipes anymore! Maybe I'll be a famous chef for the aliens. Maybe NASA will contact me to work with them as a visionary and I can escape The Hood. Maybe the psychiatric ward will be calling for less glamorous reasons.
And maybe I read something somewhere that put that little story in my head.
The mind. It's a terrible thing to waste.
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