Someone Call a Doctor

My subconscious might be trying to send me a message and that message might be that I am a creepy person.

Yesterday, I went to the grocery store on my lunch break and wandered through the produce section. Craving the crisp crunch of a refreshing cucumber (I have been stuck on alliteration lately. Annoying, right?), I grabbed two of those and put them in my basket. I looked at apples and berries and really wasn’t feeling up for any of them, but when I walked past the bananas, I decided the yellow, self-wrapped fruit would be a good snack and easy to transport. I got two of those. The meat section offered me steak, which I was craving and after wandering through the rest of the store I ended up with those three items (five if you count the duplicates) in my basket. First of all, that is a weird lunch; second, what does this say about my subconscious?

But wait, it gets weirder. I go home, grill the steak and while I am waiting for it to bake in the oven, I turn on AMC. What is on? The Silence of the Lambs. What do I do? I sit transfixed, shoving bloody steak into my mouth while Jodie Foster is chased around Ted Levine’s chamber of death and Anthony Hopkins talks about “having old friends for dinner.”

Today I am writing a short, silent film treatment about Lizzie Borden as I chomp on the other half of that bloody steak. Gross.

It is possible that I am a sick woman.