Insomnia can at least smell delicious.

I haven't been sleeping lately. Not the sound, restorative kind of sleep, anyway. I fall asleep only to find myself awake a few hours later, my mind spurting off in any direction like a greased football. This is disturbing to me, especially since it is so difficult to have actual productive thoughts at these restless times. After several nights of tossing and turning and waiting for the sun to rise, I decided that maybe I needed some kind of middle of the night comfort or reassurance. After carefully considering my options, I decided to look to my crock pot for solace. At least if I was going to be awake at some god-forsaken hour, I could be comforted by a yummy smell. My plan was simple, put something in the crockpot right at bedtime, and then when I woke up three or four hours later, I could lie there and enjoy the pleasant aroma, as well as be comforted by the knowledge that lunch and several servings of dinner were all taken care of. Genius, right? I thought so. Or at least did until I was awoken at 3:45 this morning from what I would have to call a food porn dream. I was in a magnificent  restaurant, wait-staff bustling around me, filling my champagne glass with Krystal, whisking plates to and from other fancy diners like myself, and catering to my every restaurant need. My pristine white table cloth was scattered with the the most decadent array of plates, each prepared with the utmost care and precision. Roasted crispy duck. Papardelle with sausage, Swiss chard and chick peas. Baked chicken. Pho. Heaping bowls of vegetables of every color.  Tiramisu. Each incredible dish was steaming and sending off an amazing aroma, like, well, chicken molé poblano. In fact, the restaurant was named Poblano, and each waiter carried a smoky poblano pepper in their pocket, which explained why THEY smelled like molé poblano. I couldn't help but notice that my fabulous poblano perfume was extra strong, as well, and that my table pillow (table pillow??) was also stinking of smoky pepper. My stomach rumbled. My eyes popped open. The memory of my happy restaurant dream faded, but the aroma lingered on. Well, lingered may be too delicate a term. The scent of chicken molé poblano filled the air, rousing me from my restful (at last) sleep. Humph. As I glanced at the clock, I noticed I wasn't the only one awoken by a growly tummy, Willow was sitting up staring at me. We both laid back down. Soon she was snoring, and I waited for morning, wide awake. But at least it smelled delicious.