Today when the alarm buzzed at 7:00 a.m., I awoke with my head spinning. Mentally, it felt like I’d been up all night, stressing, pacing and wringing my hands because I had killed my son and a bunch of his soldier buddies with my three-week-old apple loaf. My mind was going a hundred miles an hour.
In my dream, I had received word that Eric and a bunch of other soldiers had died of botulism poisoning after eating the apple loaf I’d mailed to him three weeks ago. I know apple loaf is not a breeding ground for botulism but since when is accuracy a component of our dreams?
I had visions of half a dozen camo-clad silhouettes lying dead on the floor of a U.S. Army base in the Middle East, with a stern-faced sergeant walking toward a soldier standing in the middle of it all demanding to know what happened?
As we dressed for our walk, John said Eric had sent word that the package with the apple loaf had arrived. I instantly ignored that piece of good news, told John about my dream and asked, “Did he eat any?”
John didn’t know, but said Eric thought the apple loaf looked fine.
“Well, maybe he shouldn’t eat it…”
“Did anyone else eat it?”
“If Eric and a bunch of his company die from eating my cooking, there will be an investigation, they’ll arrest me, I’ll face a military tribunal, be convicted and thrown into a military prison for life….”
There have been moments in my life where I honestly believed that too much information can be a bad thing—like learning yesterday that Eric’s packages might not have even left the country after three weeks. Sometimes it’s better to walk around ignorant and happy than informed and unhappy, frustrated or fearful so your brain doesn’t launch you into a crazy dream sequence like the one I had last night.
Anyway, glad it’s over.
Well, almost over, because I’m still wondering just a teensy little bit if anyone gets sick after eating the apple loaf….