I woke up early, having just had a dream about a sandwich that may or may not have been scary. I can’t be sure because I was asleep at the time. I have no idea why I would have had a scary sandwich dream, other than possibly because it’s day one million of Covid and I had already definitely had a nightmare earlier in the night. Plus, I needed to pee.
The sandwich in my dream was made of turkey, the thick-slab kind. It had a big piece of that in it. It was not the flimsy lunch-meat turkey of the type Spouse and I have in the fridge. (I told you I’m not a good vegetarian. Neither is he). Instead, it was a thick, substantial bird piece, like you have after Thanksgiving. Ah, Thanksgiving leftovers day! The day when you make gorgeous slabs of turkey sandwiches on toast, smear some mayonnaise on, then put pepper and Lawry’s salt on them, especially. Those sandwiches are so amazing! The Lawry’s salt kicks up the level of sandwich from “really good,” to “Oh, my God!”
If you don’t know what Lawry’s salt is, I actually feel a little sad for you, because that means you’ve never had your delicious turkey sandwich elevated from really good to “Oh, my God!” Lawry’s is that reddish salt that comes in a container with an orange-ish cap. It is also delicious in soups, sauces and so on, or at least that’s what the Lawry’s salt people say. (I mostly use it in sandwiches. We do live in a democracy, though, so please, use it anyway you like). I think Lawry’s used to have MSG in it, but it doesn’t anymore. Some people prefer to put left over cranberry sauce on their turkey sandwiches, which is fine. I prefer tomatoes and mayonnaise on mine, with the magical salt, of course. To be honest, I think cranberry sauce on turkey sandwiches is overrated. I think that turkey and tomato is much, much better (especially with mayonnaise and Lawry’s about which I have quite recently raved). Also, the perfect turkey sandwich absolutely has to have the just-right amount mayo and the thick slab of turkey because if it’s too thick, that’s just gross. (If you were concerned, I do like cranberry sauce, just not as part of a turkey sandwich).
It is critical, too, that the perfect sandwich be on toast, not just bread. In my case, that’s gluten free toast, which is, fortunately, much better than it sounds. You get used to it. It’s just like all the other stuff I’ve had to get used to in the years since I became allergic to food. I now use fake dairy, which means I use fake cream, fake butter, oat milk instead of milk, and so on (just in case you didn’t know what dairy is, I wanted to give you some examples. You’re welcome). I don’t eat fake cheese, though, because fake cheese is repugnant. Even a dairy free person has her limits.
The funny thing about all of it, my fond memories of Thanksgivings of yore, my fantasy about food, and the actual dream/nightmare sandwich is that they are from my very own brain. In real life, it is not the day after Thanksgiving; I was having a dream or nightmare, and therefore it’s all just imaginary. I could imagine any single thing I want to eat. Anything. It’s pretend. Even if I did choose to have that imaginary sandwich (which, you can’t blame me, because sandwiches are pretty damn good, it wouldn’t have to be turkey–but seriously, what else?) Oh, yeah, salami. Still, for a sandwich, turkey is better than salami, at least for me. I think. “But you don’t eat meat!” Not really, except turkey, fish, chicken and tuna. Oh, wait, tuna is fish. Is fish “meat” or is it its very own, doesn’t-quite-fit-in-with-the-others category? I don’t know, honestly. Anyway, you’re right, I don’t eat meat except the many, many things I’ve just listed. However, since I’m going to pretend-eat anyway, why would I make it turkey instead of salami? I’m not sure I would. Now I’m torn, since it’s imaginary. Hmm. Come to think of it, I like salami, but I don’t like salami on sandwiches. Turkey it is, then.
Salami 
Turkey sandwich with cranberry. A mistake.
Anyway, this isn’t the first time I’ve had a dream about food, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. (Check out “Eggs Benedict,” for example, which is aptly named because it’s about…Eggs Benedict). I don’t know why I dream about food sometimes. (It’s not that often, but it does come up). Maybe it’s because my whole life I have thought about food. A lot. Maybe it’s because my whole life I have also thought about weight a lot. Food. Weight. Do you think there might be a connection? Fortunately, I haven’t had any dreams about my weight that come to mind, because those would definitely, definitely be of the nightmarish kind, and who wants that? Not me, kiddo, not me.
The sandwich itself didn’t seem that bad, because the sandwich I’ve described, the yummy imaginary one, isn’t really the sandwich from my dream. Or sandwich of my nightmare, if it was. In fact, a true “dream sandwich” is probably pretty damn good, unless you’re a bad cook, but even lousy cooks can make good sandwiches, right? Especially in a dream. I’ve lost the thread. My point, until I started to hang out with the Earl of Sandwich (I though Earl had an e, at least the guy after whom sandwiches were made, but it doesn’t). God damn it, I am sick of writing the word sandwich, especially since spell check knows that I keep spelling it wrong– but doesn’t know enough to fix it on my behalf. Instead, it just keeps yelling at me with its big, ugly red squiggles. Piss off, spell check! Quit yelling and just spell sandwich for me! (It just looked weird, even though I know how to spell it- or at least, I do now. It was yesterday that I didn’t).
Anyway, this isn’t the first time I’ve had a dream about food, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. (Check out “Eggs Benedict,” for example, which is aptly named because it’s about…Eggs Benedict). I don’t know why I dream about food sometimes. (It’s not that often, but it does come up). Maybe it’s because my whole life I have thought about food. A lot. Maybe it’s because my whole life I have also thought about weight a lot. Food. Weight. Do you think there might be a connection? Fortunately, I haven’t had any dreams about my weight that come to mind, because those would definitely, definitely be of the nightmarish kind, and who wants that? Not me, kiddo, not me.
The perfect turkey sandwich just I’ve described, the yummy imaginary one, isn’t really the sandwich from my dream. Or sandwich of my nightmare, if it was one. In fact, a true “dream sandwich” is probably pretty damn good, unless you’re a bad cook. However, even lousy cooks can make good sandwiches, right? Especially in a dream. I’ve lost the thread. My point, until I started to hang out with the Earl of Sandwich, is that sandwiches are lovely. (Until quite recently-like yesterday-I thought Earl had an e, at least the guy after whom sandwiches were made, but it doesn’t). God damn it, I am sick of writing the word sandwich, especially since spell check knows that I keep spelling it wrong– but doesn’t know enough to fix it on my behalf. Instead, it just keeps yelling at me with its big, ugly red squiggles. Piss off, spell check! Quit yelling and just spell sandwich for me! (It just looked weird, even though I know how to spell it- or at least, I do now. It was yesterday that I didn’t).
My actual nightmare (the one I am certain was a nightmare, instead of the sandwich one) was not about sandwiches at all; it was about having a ghost in the house. Not in the house, actually, but in our hotel room, in the closet. (My husband is even in my dream hotel room with me, which is very kind of him, especially since it was a nightmare and I needed the company). Of course, there can’t be a ghost in our hotel room because there is no hotel room… because we’re home. There isn’t likely to be a hotel room anytime soon, either, what with Covid still being true and all, and, unfortunately, the virus is not just a nightmare.
Please don’t misunderstand; this Covid stuff is a nightmare. It’s just not only a nightmare. It’s real life. I am reminded of that video that went viral many, many years back. Remember that one? I’m referring to the video with the little kid after the dentist. He’s still all tripped out on meth or whatever they give little kids at the dentist. I’m just kidding; they don’t give little kids meth at the dentist. Actually, hopefully they don’t (whoever they are) give little kids meth at all. And why would you, really? Is meth super cheap or something? I mean, not that you would then give a child meth simply because it doesn’t cost much, but it probably is much cheaper than coke. I’m still not sure why anyone is giving a child meth, though. Or coke. Or even coca cola, for that matter, which is really quite bad for anyone, not just kids.
Back at the dentist, whatever they gave the little video kid looks more like the good stuff, and not meth. (I’m guessing). The kid seemed perfectly content, albeit confused. “Is this real life?” That’s what all of us are wondering right about now. Is it? And yes, it fucking is, which is horrible. (If you are a child, you probably should not be reading this blog, though. Thank you anyway. Now is a good time for you to exit. Oh, and please don’t do coke or meth).
Okay, now that we got that snotty little kid out of here and away from reading this blog (I was just being polite earlier), as well as removing the tripped out post-dentist video boy, we can go back to important things. Like Covid 19, the end of the earth and how we are all going to die. What’s funny about what I just wrote is that it’s true…there probably will be an end to the earth, eventually. We are all going to die. The Earth might last longer than we do (especially if we all die so we have less chance of killing it).
Since the virus came to visit, the planet has been perfectly fine–happy, even, to have a few days off. Hmm, global pandemic. On one side of the coin, that damn virus sure has been busy going everywhere, going, going, and going. On the flip side, so many of the world’s activities, like flying and driving (to name a few) came to a grinding halt. Screeching halt. I don’t know, it feels more a “screeching halt” to me. Then again, “grinding halt” works, too. There is a lot of grinding these days, especially for those in isolation with their romantic loved one. We can guess that there will be a Covid-Baby boom, as well as a Covid-Divorce boom, especially if people feel comfortable getting divorced over the Internet. Or would you wait to get divorced until you are no longer in isolation with your partner? Probably, that seems smarter. Hopefully that’s not relevant for me, personally, but if it does pertain to you, I’m sorry. Hang in there!
Back to Covid. I know Covid and our response of quarantine feels like forever to us humans, but the Earth is billions of years old (it is billions, right?). Until now She hasn’t even had a single day to Herself, and not a single day off. Even God took a day off on the seventh day, and the Earth was like, “Okay, guess I’ll just twiddle my thumbs and stay here while everyone else gets a day off.” Poor Mother Earth. No spa day for her. Come to think of it, she couldn’t have a spa day even if she wanted to. There would be not a single spa place on the planet (see what I mean, here?) where she would be able to get her nails done. She doesn’t even have nails. This, of course, means that she can’t have a spa day, thought that’s not the only reason, as I’ve already established.
The point is: there will, quite probably, be an end to Mother Earth at some point. Certainly an “end to all Earth as we know it,” will, in fact, prove to be a valid prophecy. I know this because, even if the Earth doesn’t die soonish, it is unlikely She can live (?) on forever. She’s not Jesus. Anyway, there will be an end to Earth as we know it because if we humans are all dead (and we will be, eventually, regardless of cause), there will, in fact, be an “end to Earth as we know it.” See, if we’re dead, right, there is an end of sorts (our own) so there is no more knowing to be had. Get it?
As is quite typical for me, I have digressed. The point is this. We all die. The Earth may or may not end. However for us- for each and every one of us– and for the human species altogether– the Earth will end “as we know it” because when (not if) we die it will, most definitely, most certainly, have “ended as we know it.” The take aways from all of this are: Nightmares are scary. Lawry’s salt makes a turkey sandwich amazing, and please don’t give your kids coke, meth, or any other drugs. Plus, Mother Earth probably really does need a vacation. She’s earned it.