Cooking Bad Soup and the Dark Market

Again my thoughts are all jumbled so recalls, when I finally write them down, come in bits and pieces. Just haven’t been on the ball lately. I thought I was PMSing…then you know, my lady cycle and now even that is done. Usually my energy and head bounce right back. Not this time…guess I am just getting old.

Dreams 08.08.12
I am packing myself a lunch my kitchen except this kitchen looked like it belonged in a completely different home. I grabbed a bag of store-bought “homemade soup” from the fridge, poured it in a pot. Then started to add other stuff like sauces, mustard, spices to it. I remember thinking to myself it’s fine the way it is. “Stop fucking it up. You’re not even going to drink this because it’ll end up tasting horrible” but I kept stirring waiting for it to heat up. Then whatever I had put together had mixed well enough and now my chicken and veggie soup looked like a light green fomay sludge. My head still had an image of the other bag of soup in the fridge, as if to say, “You don’t need to drink this. Taste it, it’s horrible. Just grab the other pack, a container and just be on your way. You’re late as it is.” I ignored my thoughts and poured the sludgy soup into a glass bottle and grabbed a screw cap from the drawers. Then I felt like I should taste it. So I dipped my finger in the bottle until it was covered in the foamy soup and then licked it off my finger.

It wasn’t horrible. It tasted very mustardy and just not at all what it looked like. My mind flashed me an image of the other bad of soup again. I screwed on the cap, put it in my bag. Then I opened the fridge and grabbed the other bag as well before heading out the door.

Next, I remember I am in a super market with another person, I don’t remember who it was. It felt like a family member. At first we were walking around the produce sections. It wasn’t brightly lit. It was more like all the shelves and walls were painted a shiny black and there were dangling lightbulbs that hung just a foot above the neatly piled fruits and veggies. It felt more like a market in Asia. We started walking faster for some reason like someone was following us.

Then I suddenly broke away from my family member, yelled back at them that I would meet them upstairs, then darted through the various shelves and displays to get away. I found a door near the “back” which led to a stairwell painted all white. I dashed up and had to run around some factory machinery set against white clincal background, pretending to blend in as part of the lab-coated workers. I vaguely recall empty brown boxes on conveyor belts moving along sparsely, then workers put items in the box.

Finally I reached a door that led to the upstairs market and I ran out, back into the black walls and dark shelves with dimly lit merchandise environment. I was in a huff and a bit sweaty. I ripped off the stolen lab coat I used while in the factory to blend in, tossed it in a hidden corner and just kept on walking, once more blending in. I looked around to keep an eye out for my friend.


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