Peach Cobbler Nightmares

The other night, I woke up in a furious sweat believing that my film camera had been stolen from my car holding the best roll of film I have yet to shoot. A few nights before, I kept myself awake for hours after dreaming my dog was shot and kicked to the curb beside my car, which had been issued a new body style. That’s what I would classify as a double nightmare. I have linked these nightmares to eating habits and I blame it all on dessert. This week, in the midst of my recent flourishings in the kitchen, I have made a true southern peach cobbler, something that I learned by watching my grandmother in Texas cook. Sticking to the unwritten recipe, I used enough sugar and butter to kill a small vegan. The first night I made it, I had a small portion and soon slipped into sweet misery.
With this new understanding, I can look back on the last two months and link nightmares to desserts. For the first two weeks I moved to Chicago, nothing. Once Philip and I moved into our new apartment, I made a chocolate cake. Nightmares ensued. A few days later after we finished the cake, I made another, but German chocolate this time. Nightmares for a week and a half. Following that, there would’ve been a series of Cadbury’s chocolate nightmares and intermittent caramel brownie nightmares.
So now, with much regret, I must march through to my room and to the inevitable Peach Cobbler hell that awaits me there.
Goodnight and sweet dreams!