The Enchilada Dream

In dreams, I eat alone -- Picture courtesy Wikipedia

by blogSpotter
If there's a therapist out there, you can weigh in with your advice. I need to talk about the bizarre dream I had last night, and maybe figure it all out. First, a brief discussion of my habits. Anyone who knows me knows that I like to eat. I eat breakfast, lunch and dinner as well as afternoon and evening snacks. In my defense, my choices are fairly sensible (nothing deep-fried, no Double Whoppers); I also do a cardio workout 3 times a week. All that being said, I still have the need to diet and to do penance for all of the holiday noshing. The love handles are pretty obvious despite all my efforts. Must also say that holidays cause me to lose all sense of dietary decency. At Thanksgiving, I devoured an entire pumpkin pie topped with Cool Whip in one evening.

Yesterday, partly as a reaction to the above, I exercised extreme dietary discipline. No carbs, no junk food and sensible low-sugar snacks. I went to bed, feeling like an English orphan denied his second bowl of porridge. And that's when I had it -- the Enchilada dream. I dreamed I was in a restaurant being served a delicious Enchilada plate with rice and beans. The details are hazy -- it could have been Herrera's or Mi Cocina here in Dallas. Couldn't be Taco Bell or Taco Bueno, it wasn't fast food. As I was about to take a bite, my alarm rudely woke me up. I wanted to hurl it out the window.

My dreams are usually bizarre, unsavory and not the least bit fun. I've had dreams where I'm falling or about to be electrocuted -- always wake up before it happens. Have never specifically had a food dream, much less one where I could smell it so vividly. What sense can I make of this dream? I've never been one to think dreams mean anything more than the misfiring of neurons. But here, my brain was leading me to relapse or maybe taunting me:
"Hey fatso, here's what you can't have".

The outrage grows. I'm sure a cognitive therapist would say that the food dream is indicative of something in my past or current life. Imagine I could get similar insights from Tarot cards or a magic eight ball ...and yet ... this one was so well-timed. There’s a song about dreams and it goes:
"Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily life is but a dream."

Well, that song might be on to something. Maybe when we die, we wake up to some higher reality. It's OK if the Great Alarm Clock wakes me before I'm slumping sideways in a nursing home. In the mean time, guess what? Enchiladas, unlike a Lexus or a beach house, are very affordable; they’re an affordable slice of heaven. Right there at Herrera's, four blocks away. If anyone wants to know where I am.... I'll be running an errand, picking up the dry cleaning. And nobody should disturb me ‘til I’m done with that errand.

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