"I've decided that perhaps I'm bulimic and just keep forgetting to purge."

-- Paula Poundstone

Friday, March 26, 2010

Sweet dreams are made of cheese

Whew, those crazy Wildcats.

When I went to bed last night, UK’s game against Cornell was still a little too close for comfort. But I knew if I stayed up (I’m in the Eastern time zone), there’s no way I’d make it up and on the treadmill this morning.

I checked the score on my phone before I even got out of bed today, and they won by 17.

I don’t know why I was even worried.

So, what did I dream about?

No, not the Cats. Pizza.

I dreamed that I had a thin-crust cheese pizza in front of me, and I debated about eating just a couple of small slices.

Even in my dream, I was rationalizing that it was a thin crust, no meat, etc., so a couple of slices wouldn’t hurt.

Then I ate the whole thing.

Can you say anxiety?

I remember that for a good six months or so after I quit smoking, I would dream all the time that I had smoked a cigarette.

Some were quite hilarious, like the one where I dreamed I had a pack of cigarettes hidden in the drop ceiling in the newsroom, and I’d sneak up and get one after deadline.


But I was always so relieved when I’d wake up and realize it was only a dream, and that everything was still on track.

Kind of like this morning.

No pizza. The Wildcats win.


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