It’s the strangest dream. And I keep having it.
My back has been bothering me a lot lately—I wake up 3 or 4 times a night trying to find a decent position and a spot on the bed that doesn’t make it hurt worse—and it’s filtering into my dreams. Mainly, I finally go see a doc about the back pain, and he orders an x-ray. And it’s a spiffy new type of x-ray—animated. Yep, they take the picture, and when they put the film on that nice box with the bright light to look at it, I can see that my spine is shattering.
Pieces flying everywhere.
And it’s made up of macaroni noodles.
Stop laughing. It is. I’m sitting there in the doctor’s office, watching my macaroni-noodle spine exploding, and it doesn’t seem the least bit odd.
That would certainly explain the pain, all those bits and pieces of pasta shifting and spinning and collapsing right there in my lower back. It makes perfect sense.
What felt out of place the last time I had this dream (sometime in the wee early hours this morning, between telling Max to be quiet and throwing a pillow at him) was the Spouse Thingy’s insistence on making a side trip to Kentucky Fried Chicken on the way to the hospital. He was going to die if he didn’t get a take out container of popcorn shrimp. Yet it didn’t seem strange that he came out of KFC with a 6 foot long sub sandwich instead. Or that he refused to share it with me.
“It has fish on it,” he says, taking a bite.
I hate fish, of course I’m not going to want any.
Fish doesn’t go with macaroni, especially when it’s spinning and popping and falling apart.
Yeah…I either need to see a doc for real, or stop drinking hot chocolate before going to bed.