This morning at five a.m., the kitties did their usual routine: chasing and running and jumping and playing on and around our sleeping bodies. Oh how I hate that particular routine. It's like they have little cat alarm clocks. Playtime, it rings.
So I got up, coaxed them into the kitchen by shaking their food box, fed them a little, then snuck back in and closed the door.
And Sam said, "I was just dreaming that Meatsock [the kitty] had a science test. A biology test, in one of those big auditoriums that hold hundreds of people. And you were really worried he wouldn't do well. And I was trying to tell you he'd do just fine."
"Was he a human form of Meatsock?" I asked.
"No, definitely a cat. No opposable thumbs or anything."
Then I remembered/realized what I'd been dreaming. I confess, I record a few episodes of America's Next Top Model a week on DVR, and I watched two last night while I graded midterms. And you know what I was dreaming? It was something like "America's Next Top Vegan." These pretty girls had to compete for who was the healhiest eater and the smartest, most charming vegan.
I think I might be a bit obsessed. I'm sure it's a transition phase of sorts, but I'm always thinking about what I can eat, what I'll do when we go out to dinner with friends (if we ever get any) or family, what I'll say when visiting teachers bring me cookies. On and on with worrying and thinking about no more quesadillas or chicken sandwiches and on and on. And then I make something vegan, like last night, when I made this huge wrap with black beans and carrots and baby romaine lettuce and GOOD salsa and a touch of soy cheese, and I think, whatever. This is the tastiest food in the world, to me. As far as my tastbuds are concerned, they WANT that more than anything. They just forget, and bug me all day for an eggroll. An eggroll, of all things.
Ah well. Maybe I can convince Tyra to buy the rights to my dream.