The Uncooked Chicken Dinner

Winner, winner, chicken dinner. This phrase has been [overused] by my lovely nephew (on suspicion that my sister put him up to it...love you!) and it hadn't crossed my mind for months.

Until this morning.

I wake up at a table with friends (I believe they are my new "big sibs" in the theater group, P, S, J, as well as my "bros," MH, D, T, and MS). We are having a blast at this fancy restaurant (crisp white tablecloths, wine, candlelight...beautiful) when our [attractive] waiter comes to take our order. Everyone gets either salad, soup, or steak. I, however, will have the chicken. This huge piece of tender chicken. Mmmm...It's almost like a chicken steak. That's how big. So the waiter smiles at us and goes off to get our food and we continue discussing whatever is on our minds. Minutes later, the waiter returns with our meals.

He places the salads and soups down. Simple pleasures, look delicious. Then the steaks. My mouth begins to water. Finally, my chicken. Without looking at it, I immediately fall in love with it. There's one small problem: it's completely raw. The waiter does the typical, "Is there anything else I can get for you?" I smile and say, "Nope! Thank you!!" He smiles and walks off. I put my plate to the side, and the group begins to converse.

After a while, I get hungry, and grab my chicken. Almost as if I had forgotten, I am baffled at its rawness. "Guys, my chicken's raw."

"Yeah, we know! We were wondering when you were going to send it back!"

"Here, I'll try to eat it." I took a bite, cautiously, like when you try a steak that is a bit rarer than what you had asked for. I spit it out. Signaling the waiter, I wonder if this would ruin our connection. He says with an eager joy, "What is it, sir?"

"Hey...I hate to be knitpicky, but is there any way you could take this back and just throw it on the grill a bit longer...?"

His electric smile immediately turns into a disappointed frown. He takes my plate and takes it back to the kitchen in a huff. I am in awe. I give my friends a look that says, What did I do? They ignore me. Suddenly, we have a guest. It's someone from my past, someone who I have loose ends with...I just stare at them. They expect me to say hello. I do not. That would be faking. I'm done being fake. Why is that waiter mad at me? Where's my chicken? I'm hung---

I wake up to the sound of cars driving in the rain.

The Nigerian Happy Birthday

So as some of you may know (I know you're reading...I don't see you...but I know you're out there...) yesterday was my most monumental birthday yet. That's right, I turned...19.

Woot.

Well, after a crazy awesome day with my second family, tons of class, tons of studying, etc...I was bound to have some interesting dreams. I haven't been remembering them these past few days thanks to the re-adjustment to an interrupted sleep pattern/eternal grogginess. But, I closed my eyes...

...I've been here before. In fact, I often retreat here to escape the madness. I am a problem to these people. I am obsessed with this place. I don't belong, and even though they know I could fit in, I can't, due to some deeper meaning. My "guardian" escorts me away from the people I don't belong with in the jungle. Now we're on the beach. I don't want to go back to the real world! She can't make me! I love it on the island!!!

Are you kidding me? It's already morning time? My alarm hasn't gone off yet! I was really enjoying it on the island with my favorite LOST castaways...and I love my guardian, Kate/Evangeline Lilly . Let's go back there!

I'm now somewhere new. Damn. Where am I? Hey! It's my second family! God...we're so much older...not physically, but you can feel that we've aged in some strange way. As I hug and kiss the loves that are the First Year Players, and we catch up, we are seated in the cabaret-like area. Oh God...what's he doing here? The manager at our dining hall...nothing against him, but this is private. Oh well...

Damn! Awake again?! Why am I so sensitive to people shuffling about? Oh well...I shift position...

I awake in the lounge area right next to my room. I am sitting in a chair placed in an odd fashion. I'm facing the wall. I have no peripheral vision. Four men come in my view. They are my housemates...led by my Nigerian pal. They say nothing, but I know what's coming: They're about to sing "Happy Birthday" to me in his native language...Oh God, here it comes!

He begins to count: "1, 2, 3!" The four inhale getting ready to recite their masterpiece, and they---

The horrid beeping of my alarm startles me into waking up. I hop off my bed, hit it with the spite I have against it for ruining my third and final dream...I close my eyes in exhaustion, take a seat at my desk, and blindly scribble down everywhere I had been just hours, minutes, even seconds before.