So, I often have this dream about a large Victorian house that is haunted by all kinds of scary things–in the dream, it’s the house one of my friends lived in in grade school, but modified so that there’s a big two story porch and some extra rooms and a scary basement, in the way of dream architecture.
Usually, I live in this house.
But last night, in my dream, W. had bought the house from my friend’s family to live in with his brother, who is, in the dream, a professional baseball player. This is a problem, because, after they move in to the house, with my cats, his brother is being regularly possessed by a giant garden slug, and is thus in danger of losing his contract.
It’s up to me to exorcise the slug and clear the house of all ghosts.
I mention all this as a long way of saying that I used to be a good cook. But I made my famous chicken and rice last night, a dish I’ve made a thousand times, and it was not very good–though the Butcher said he liked it–and it gave me indigestion and weird vivid dreams.
Maybe if I could remember the exact mixture of spices, I could sell it to mystics looking for visions, but as just an ordinary cook of ordinary meals, this isn’t going to cut it.