Dreaming of Cheese

Last night I dreamed that I was making a cheese sandwich. I was in a kitchen that was not my own but that seemed familiar. The room was messy, with a lot of clutter on the counter and magnets on the fridge. The stove was 1970s avocado green and needed cleaning.

I put the cheese and bread together and then cut the sandwich in half, in triangles. But I couldn’t decide if I wanted a cold cheese sandwich, a grilled cheese sandwich, or a toasted cheese sandwich. Finally I resolved to grill my sandwich. I searched for butter in this not-quite-known kitchen. I found some in the refrigerator and wondered if it was going to be too cold to spread. I gave it a few seconds in the microwave, and that softened it enough so that I was able to spread a little on the first triangular half of the sandwich. I placed that half on a griddle on the stove, but did not turn on the gas yet. And then I could not find the other half.

I searched that kitchen for the second half of my cheese sandwich. I found a half sandwich in the refrigerator, the same triangular shape. I couldn’t remember putting half of my sandwich in the refrigerator, or think of why I would have. But I pulled it out and was about to butter it, when I realized this was not my sandwich. This was a turkey sandwich. I wrapped it in a plastic bag and put it back in the refrigerator. I looked around, once again, for the second half of my cheese sandwich. Finally, I found a half sandwich on the counter. But no, this one was ham.

I remember feeling frustrated, thinking how ridiculous it was that making a cheese sandwich had become so complicated. I woke up before I ever found the second half.