Mushy brains

Last week, while reading The Man Who Mistook his Wife for a Hat, I took comfort in the fact that Oliver Sacks attributed the visions of Hildegaard, a religious mystic from the 12th century, to migraine headaches. I took comfort as this was evidence that I am not the only migraine-induced freakshow.

Behold, a dream I had when I managed to fall asleep for 10 minutes during my last migraine:

I'm walking down a hallway, with windows to my left and a wall to my right, with a middle-aged woman, telling me that today is my lucky day as I am in for a real delicacy: we will be having brains for dinner. Human brains.

We enter a room. To the left, in a chair, is a man with a giant fly for a head. Except the giant fly isn't his head. It's, actually, eating his head. Well, no not so much eating. As my hostess explains, the fly isn't so much eating man's head; it's more like the fly is sucking on his head. Apparently, the juices the fly excretes as it sucks on the man's head makes the man's brain mushy, and the mushiness is what makes human brains so delicious.

Meanwhile, the fly has somehow detached itself from the man's head and the latter is walking, stumblingly, around the room, saying, "I'm not mushy enough yet. I don't think I'll taste good."

My hostess takes the man by the elbow, leading him back to the chair, insisting that, yes, he is plenty mushy enough, and he'll taste just delicious.

Unfortunately, I woke up before I was able to determine that myself.