Triticum Turgidum

Lying Dormant and Waiting to Bloom Since 2005

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Location: The Prairie, Illinois, United States

I am a beauty-loving ambidextrous higher-order primate who learned transcendental meditation at 7, statistical analysis at 23, tap dancing at 30, and piano at 35. I tolerate gluten, lactose, and differences of opinion, but not abuse. Or beets.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Crazy Food Dreams

I've never been a believer in the psychoanalytic interpretation of dreams. Who's to say what some object, say, a white glove, "means?" It might pop up in one person's dream as a symbol of purity; in another's as a symbol of anxiety associated with memories of failing the "white glove" test at boot camp; and in still another's as a symbol of residual terror from that trip to Disney World, when the guy in the Mickey Mouse suit put his hands where he shouldn't have. I don't think there is any unidimensional, generalizeable "meaning" for any given element of a dream. I don't think there can be.

Except, that is, when it comes to food. I can vouch for this. Since my baby has grown to giant proportions (she's more of an in-utero toddler at this point, and I am convinced she'll exceed two feet when she's born), she's been sucking up vast quantities of glucose from my blood. I can't keep up with her. I now eat plenty of carbs at night but my fasting glucose in the morning is still in the 50s and 60s (very low), and my ketone levels suggest "starvation." But I don't need to prick my finger or pee on a stick to find this out. All I have to do is consult my dreams.

A few nights ago, I dreamt I was shopping for gourmet chocolate in a hardware store (ah, those wacky, wacky dreams), and even though I was surrounded by delicious, beautifully-wrapped chocolates, I never got to eat them because I couldn't decide which ones to buy. My blood glucose that morning was 58. Two days later, I dreamt I was sitting in a restaurant, waiting to be served, growing increasingly despondent as I watched the waitress deliver steaming plates of food to diners all around me. Freud would say such a dream represents sexual frustration or a sublimated desire to kill my relatives, but I know better: my blood glucose was 62; I was hungry.

The picture above pretty much represents the dirty little thoughts with which my id is preoccupied these days. And yes, given a huge piece of chocolate cake, I would eat it the exact same way, sans fork, with the exact same facial expression. The creepiest thing about the ad (for Pillsbury cake mix, 1954), is the copy that accompanied it: "Mother, I love you." *shudder* The folks at capitalized on this creepiness by inserting an additional message that appears when you drag your mouse over the picture: "...but you're still not as delicious as Daddy was!" So, okay, maybe Freud wasn't entirely wrong.


Blogger PFG said...

Darn kid eating up all your calories!

My sister wrote an opinion piece for her campus paper last year entitled "Id, Ego and the Cookie Monster" that has relevance for the "Mother I love you" caption. It's hard to find since the campus paper changed servers or something, the google links don't work. If you're interested and I'll send you the direct link.

1:41 PM, February 10, 2006  

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