Tomatillos

Dearest Rachel –

Sometimes, I find myself wondering what my mind is thinking. Then I remember what’s doing the wondering, and reality folds in upon itself. When my own brain doesn’t seem to know what it’s coming up with, I have really fallen down the rabbit hole.

Fortunately, the things it comes up with are relatively harmless – they’re just weird. Last night’s dream involved the gathering of smaller tomatoes off of a vast field of vines. This was partly an effort to allow the larger specimens to get most of the nutrients from the individual vines, and thus grow larger. But in another sense, this was so as to take these little tomatoes (which for whatever reason I was assuming were ‘tomatillos’ – never mind that’s a completely separate species) and use them as weapons.

How exactly these tiny little fruits were meant to be used as weapons, I could not explain – and even less so now that I’m awake. Perhaps, given their size (and presumed compactness), I was meaning to use them as bullets, or at least as stones in a slingshot, like a modern-day David.

And… against what, exactly? It’s not as if a piece of fruit would actually cause mush damage to anything; at worst, it would be like getting hit with a paintball. Maybe it would confuse someone into thinking they’d been wounded – the juice of a tomato does rather look like blood, in certain circumstances – but you’d have to be a special kind of stupid to think that for any extended length of time. Maybe if it was wrapped in its leaves, it might prove poisonous – it is a member of the nightshade family, after all – but otherwise, it seems an absurd weapon to use on a human.

Of course, this being a dream, I think my mind was considering something far more absurd than that. How would a tomato – a tiny tomato, barely the size of a golf ball, in fact – stack up against this thing?

Yeah, no. This thing is in orbit above the earth, and pitching a ripe fruit at it (assuming it could be thrown that high) would just bounce off its AT field.

So it’s all pretty silly and nonsensical, and somehow my mind must have known this even as it was conjuring it up; I found myself shocked awake by – of all things, but with a dream this weird, what’s one more thing – a Finnish curse word:

“PERKELE!”

So, uh… how’s your morning going, honey?

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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