We all have them.
It started out being a really good day. I spent it having lunch and going shopping with a friend. We found some good deals, walked & talked, and then I headed home.
On the way home, I didn’t feel too well. Maybe it’s the weather? Maybe it’s a weird seasonal allergy thing? (Not one, but two people suggested that, so who knows.)
I called my partner on the drive home and asked about dinner.
At that moment, all I wanted in the world was to be able to pick him up and just go to a restaurant. ANY restaurant. (Not one of the three safe ones that I generally pick between.) And, once there, to just pick something off the menu — ANYTHING I wanted — without having to ask the server a million questions, or the host for the “special GF menu,” without having to scrutinize the menu for possible traps because I’m not sure if this is a restaurant that “gets it” or is just cashing in on a fad.
In other words, I just wanted to be normal. For one meal.
Suddenly, I was exhausted.
I got off the phone, drove home, and we ate something that I honestly don’t remember.
That night, I dreamt that I went to a McDonalds. I ordered a hamburger (which is weird, because vegetarian) and requested it on a “lettuce wrap” instead of a bun, because that’s apparently a normal thing that they’re doing at McDonaldses now in my brain.
My food came and I ate it. And it was delicious. About halfway through, though, I realized that the lettuce wrap WAS ACTUALLY A BUN and I stopped mid-chew, shocked and horrified. But then dream-me thought, “Aw, eff it” and finished the whole poisonous thing, symptoms be damned. (“The damage is already done” was dream-me’s specious logic.)
And then I woke up, sleepily terrified that one day this would happen to me. (“What if I DON’T notice until halfway through??”)
And then, not for the first time, I wished that food was a thing that people didn’t REALLY need to eat all the time.
This is my life. (Sometimes.)