This Morning I woke up in a Sandwich

This morning I woke up inside a sandwich. I'm not talking about waking up between two naked people, although that would be awesome. I quite literally woke up between two slices of bread with ledduce, tomatos, cheese, and that white stuff. Ranch dressing, I think it's called.

I had no arms or legs. I was a disembodied torso in a sandwich. Was somebody going to take a bite out of me? On a Monday? Was I about to feel the crushing, crunching pressure of enormous, artificially whitened teeth? At least whoever made the sandwich was curteous enough to include ledduce. I had no shirt on.

The millions of bacteria in my body screamed in terror. If I got eaten, if I died, it would be the apocalypse for those bacteria. When I stubbed my toe, the bacteria wept for their lost brothers. I asked the ranch dressing, "If I'm an ecosystem of bacteria, why don't they....uh...?"

Every night when we go to sleep, we actually die. Our lives end. We spend the night in a bizarre purgatory that we can only remember fragmented images from in the morning.

In the morning we are reborn again, we live an entire lifetime over the course of the day, then we die again. I was reborn inside a sandwich this morning and it made me think about bacteria and sleeplessness and why I took my shirt off and why I ate lunch too late. And why I stuck my head into electrical machinery for recreation.

And why three music I didn't listen and put song put shirt on.

Speaking of music, what if the entire...never mind.

I fall asleep in my soft bed of ledduce, wondering vaguely where I'll wake up and if I'll remember this when I get there.