Pending deadlines are also the reason for some rather bizarre nightmares. Like last night. I kept dreaming of samosas in different situations.
In one where there was a samosa that I just could not bite into. It kept escaping my maw. The more I tried to bite it, the farther it went... Or the other one where each time a raw samosa was dropped in a cauldron of hot oil -- it's deep fried after all -- it would not resurface. I would keep waiting expectantly for a nice, deep fried, samosa-with-crispy-bits to bob up in the oil and it wouldn't. I love crispy bits in a samosa. (drool)
Then there was the dream where I am at a Melbourne book-signing -- not mine, I was the reporter -- and they had samosas for snacks. Only they were the fraud, frozen samosas they are selling these days. Y'know the ones that are all flat, have no taste and look uncooked? I really don't understand samosas that can be made in the microwave. If it ain't deep fried, it ain't no samosa. I refuse to have something so tasty being labelled health food. Anyway.
So in the dream they serve these samosas and I throw a fit and call them frauds... Only that the book signing was organised by a big-time publisher. The publishers, other authors and literary agents get really upset with and I am barred from all literary/book circles and I become a literary (literal?) pariah.
No, I am not pregnant and have no idea why I've had three dreams of samosas on the same night. If you have any clues, please let me know.
PS: Day one-and-a-half of nicotine patch and no cigarettes. Melbourne's getting really cold. But I am not in Melbourne. And I also saw my first, bona fide gold-rush 'town'. Very spooky.
Pic courtesy: Sparklette