Are You There God? It's Me, Toria

Approximately nobody will be interested in this, but it's related (kind of) to organic living.
Plus, I haven't blogged about learning how to make organic risotto yet, and Lauren (my eco-blogger in crime) has yet to post about the local AND organic steak sandwiches we made. So this is like...a consolation prize? For the three people who read this blog.

This morning, when my cell phone woke me up at 6 am, I had a totally bizarre moment. My mind started ranting (I didn't actually say anything out loud, because then I would be just one step closer to being a completely batty old lady) about how unnatural my life is. I'm fairly certain my main complaint was my dependence on technology (the cell phone) to wake up in the morning. But think! Just this morning alone I also used a toaster, the computer, a hair straightener, an ipod, and speakers (I hope my downstairs neighbors enjoyed the early-morning Abba). When I grudgingly opened my eyes this morning, everything in my room looked modern, and superficial, and cluttered, and horrible. And I was legitimately disconcerted.

Um, what?

I would like to point out that I have NEVER had a problem with this before. I live for clutter, and my ipod, and well, any and all gadgets. Remember when minimalism was in, as a decorating style? I thought it was depressingly barren. My ideal home is (I kid you not) the Weasley home from the Harry Potter movies. Have you seen that thing? It could not possibly be more cluttered, and all I want to do is sit in one of the grossly overstuffed chairs, sip lady grey tea, and survey the chaos (this must be my british cottage gene asserting itself).

I think this morning's reaction to the cell phone/my life in general was a product of the dream I had last night, which was a doozy, even for me. I dreamt I was in an amusement park. BUT WAIT! That's not all, because that's not that weird. The amusement park was all about the consequences of industrialization. I was on a ride that was about recycling, wherein (if I remember correctly) you rode around in a dumpster and then felt really bad anytime one of the animated figures threw away something recyclable. At the food court, you could ONLY buy high fructose corn syrup. I don't know what that looks like in real life, but my subconscious has a pretty nasty conception of it. The whole place was what I imagine a propaganda park would be like, if such a thing existed (and, now that I think of it, that seems like a great way to spread propaganda. I should remember that if I ever decide to develop my british imperialist gene).

So anyway, I suppose that explains my overwhelmingly hippie-ish feelings this morning. Seriously people, I was totally ready to move to a commune, and start waking up with the roosters (which in and of itself is hysterical, because when Taylor and I went to Croatia there was a rooster at our hostel, and I definitely did not have any warm and fuzzy feelings about that animal). Aside from my unrealistic fondness for rooster wake ups, I thought "wow, maybe this is it. This could be some big sign, or a turning point!" I got out of bed, and rather grumpily went into the kitchen to get some breakfast, comforted in the knowledge that it would at least be organic. At least whatever hippie-deity was watching over my breakfast would approve. I made the toast without any drama, and then I went to slice a peach. The knife went through the whole thing, which I thought was weird, but then I noticed the pit had done that annoying thing where it splits open (does anyone know why it does that?). So I was just pondering it, trying to decide how to extract the pit from the fruit, when I noticed THE BUG. There was a bug, merrily eating its way all around my beautiful peach! Obviously I was more than a little perturbed, and had a teeny tiny relapse into my preppy sensibilities (ie, I was longing for a little DDT). Don't worry though, I recovered quickly, and was just about to eat the peach (minus the bug and his living area) when I started panicking about the possible diseases that little bugger might have been carrying. I mean, Lauren's out of town for her friend's wedding, so if I were to contract the Black Death and die from an infected peach, no one would find me until she got back. Except maybe that bug. So in a fit of (typical) neurotic behavior, I threw the peach out. And, though I originally suspected that God, in sending me that totally wacko dream, was trying to be supportive of my new hippie lifestyle, that notion went right down the drain with my little peach eating friend (I'm glad someone enjoyed it).

So I guess God/Zeus/Allah/Montezuma is not sending me messages after all. Although I suppose I should have realized that when I asked Lauren if it was possible God was telling me to get bangs (because I had Ricky Martin's "She Bangs" stuck in my head all day). It's possible Ricky Martin is a prophet, right?