Could it Have Been the Burrito I Ate Last Night?

For the past few days I have gone into hiding. After several weeks of back to back socializing I thought it necessary to recoil and repair. Home cooking, DVDs, hot baths, my yoga mat and my Book club book are the only witnesses of what I have been up to lately. Last night I filled myself up with a burrito with all the toppings, fresh currants, a nectarine, a kiwi and a decadent dark chocolate truffle brownie. I hit my luscious bed early and fell asleep.

In my dream I lumbered into a crowded art gallery and tried desperately to find a bench to rest my weary legs. Each bench was occupied by piles of painted canvases. Upon further inspection I realized that they were my father's art. As patrons filed through the tiny room I overheard bitter comments about the artwork and immediately became defensive. I shouted, "Of course they look odd because they are not being correctly displayed! In order to fully appreciate art it must be hung and well lit. In this dark and dreary corner how can ANYONE see their true beauty and worth?"

They all just looked at me in shock and so I ran from the gallery hot and teary-eyed. As soon as I exited the building the bright sun blinded me and yet I continued to run. When my eyesight returned I saw the cerulean blue sky filled with cumulonimbus clouds and tiny chirping birds scattered near my feet, so I bent down and cooed to the minuscule creatures discovering that they were merely chicken heads and necks and nothing more. I gagged and picked them up wishing they were beautiful flowers and ran into the town square screaming wildly. People stopped and stared. Then shouts of concern roared behind me. The voices were familiar and as my ears keyed into them I realized they were people I love communicating evocative concern, so I stopped and then it struck it me. My stomach pulled tight and my hands squeezed into fists. My internal flood gates opened and everything shot from my mouth like a fire hydrant. When I looked down the mutant birds were gone and a strong sense of remorse intensely tugged at my stomach again and again. As the murky sludge dramatically spewed forth I felt tender hands on my shoulders and familiar whispers that everything was going to be just fine... just fine.

I woke up this morning feeling emptied, slightly purified, most definitely strange, and wondering if it could have been the burrito I ate last night.