dinosaurs, dinocanthropy, brain debris
You wake early on Thursday, with confusing dreams already slipping away from you. Through your window you can see the moon is just starting to set, and it's gorgeous. You stare at it, entranced, until your alarm breaks the spell. You swipe your phone to shut it up and shamble out of bed.
After a long cold shower you feel less strange. But getting ready for work, you realize how little greenery there is your house. Maybe some potted plants...
dinosaurs, dinocanthropy, brain debris
There's something exciting and electric in the air at work. Everyone you talk to all day seems to be charged with anticipation. It rubs off on you too, some kind of contact high you try to laugh off. Still, you can't stop counting down the hours until you get to go home and start your weekend.
You're feeling faintly feverish again. On the way home, you stop at the grocery store and find yourself always coming back to the produce aisle.
You buy a lot.
dinosaurs, dinocanthropy, brain debris
The cashier gives you a knowing wink as he starts scanning and weighing all your vegetables. The store's selection was pretty thin - thanks, you suppose, to the weres. Still, you bought enough that it's obvious he thinks you're one of them, so you stammer out an objection that doesn't make sense, even to you.
"Good time of the month to go vegetarian," he tells you as you swipe your card. "We'll have a bigger selection next time."
dinosaurs, dinocanthropy, brain debris
When you get home, you realize just how much food you bought. Every drawer and shelf in your fridge is crammed with fruits and vegetables. In disbelief, you decide to have a burger instead. No lettuce, just meat and cheese.
You're halfway through grilling it when you realize you're preparing a garden burger, not beef. Two, actually. Plus a gigantic salad.
You eat it all, and then snack on a head of lettuce.
The moon is mesmerizing when it rises.
dinosaurs, dinocanthropy, brain debris
Friday morning, you sleep in, but wake up on your couch, a few shreds of lettuce and cabbage next to you. You stare at the remnants blearily, then bolt for a mirror.
Your face stares back at you, unchanged. Okay, the moon was just _nearly full_ last night. You're still fine, right? Right? You resolve to eat bacon this morning, to fight against these vegetable urges.
You didn't buy any. Shit. Okay, toast. That's a burned grain, it doesn't count. Right?
dinosaurs, dinocanthropy, brain debris
Toast. Toast and... what's good as an anti-vegetable? No bacon, no meat at all in the fridge. Wait, no meat at all? You're absolutely positive that you still had leftover pizza in the fridge, plus some lunch meat.
Your stomach growls at you search, but can't find any sign of them. You munch on a bunch of grapes as you look.
You find all the meaty stuff in the garbage can. It looks like you ate all the green peppers off the pizza, then chucked it.
