Of the hundreds of images that flooded my dreams last night, the only one I can clearly recall is the moment when I ate magnetic chocolate peanut-butter cups. I was conveniently standing next to a refrigerator when I was told about their special properties, and sure enough, they stuck. As I ate them, I expected to reach a hard magnetic center, or at least encounter some odd taste, but the candy was uniformly delicious, and in the back of my mind, I wondered if I should be concerned about its ultimate effects on my health.

Now I could formulate a theory (and hey, I think I will!) that the mysterious magnetic candy was a metaphor for attraction -- sweet, tantalizing, mystifying, and infused with an undercurrent of danger. Giving into the temptation is surprisingly easy, while we are baffled and even mildly disturbed by its strange powers. I took that candy with little hesitation, but as I enjoyed it, I questioned the consequences. I knew I should be afraid of what it could do to me, but it wasn't enough to stop me from partaking. And I think about how desire is offered up like this, often all the more alluring for the risk involved. What if that tasty treat ultimately sickens or destroys us? But swallowing that candy-coated poison seems to imbue us with a strange power of our own, and maybe that's why, as we ache with that cold lump of doubt in our guts, as that foreign substance creeps ominously through our veins, we don't really mind, because maybe, as we succumb, we become magnetic, too.

Just so long as I don't end up attached to a major appliance...