Re-fried Tortillas

My eating habits are terrible when I'm sick. Because of being sick, I usually just lie around all day. Because of lying around all day, I don't pay attention to normal breakfast/lunch/dinner times. Because of this, I eat the wrong things at the wrong times, and regret it because my metabolism also is kind of broken when I am sick.
The last time I was sick, I managed to change what should have taken five minutes to eat into three hours and a brick.
 I found myself making a cheese quesadilla. (That is pronounced with a y sound for those two 11's by the way. Don't even go there.)
Someone had already made a gigantic pot of soup. I think at one point earlier in the day I may have said something along the lines of wanting soup, and it was interpreted as "let's make a gigantic pot of soup."
I did not want the soup then.
I wanted a cheese quesadilla.
I arrogantly spurned the soup, and heated up a pan to cook a tortilla. (Two technically, if we are going to go by the actual composition of a quesadilla.)
After I went through the arduous task of shredding the cheese, melting it into the tortilla, and then cutting it into quarters, (It's like cutting the grilled cheese diagonally, you can't just bite into that thing) I slapped it ceremoniously(I am very ceremonious about food, and it is definitely a bad thing,) onto a plate, and then got distracted.
Over the course of the day, though I had not done anything productive in terms of school-work, I had certainly gotten a lot done in regards to my blog. I made it actually look kind of nice, and added some quality content.(Sure.)
I was satisfied as I looked over my work and made a few last minute edits. It was looking great.
I took a bite of my tortilla.
I quickly looked at my plate to make sure that I hadn't had it switched with a piece of cardboard.
It took only a few seconds to realize that I had gotten lost in edits and revisions of literary masterpieces(yeah right), allowing the heat from the culinary masterpiece(yeah right here too) to mischievously escape into the great unknown.
Grudgingly I detached my rear end from the comfort of its seat, and returned to the kitchen to reheat my tortilla.
I went through the arduous process of modifying the state of matter in which the cheese was held, and when it had returned to satisfying temperatures and runnyness, I sat back down to continue writing awful limericks.
I picked at my tortilla, and wondered how it had so quickly increased its Mohs scale rating, until I comprehended that the same phenomena had struck.
Again I visited the kitchen, said hi to the sink for no reason whatsoever, and returned my lunch to the pan. The pan and the food were by now of course very good friends, and they chatted about life while I broodingly nibbled unsalted peanuts.
Now there is a funny thing about reheated food. I don't know the science behind it, but it is not the same as the first time you cooked it.
Ever.
Sometimes it is better. Or so my parents claim on leftover nights. I have yet to experience a positive turning of the event. At any rate, there comes a time when your cheddar has been heated and cooled so much that it refuses to drop its viscosity, no matter what you do. And flour has no laws against becoming granite, no matter how many times they tell you that alchemy does not work.
The third time I returned the food to my mouth, I quit. I was not going to heat it up again, only to forget and let it try to be the first object to hit absolute zero.
Now that isn't to say that I was going to waste it. That would be bad for the environment. And by that I mean that it would go in the garbage, and those dang squirrels would attack it and break their teeth.
I smothered it in hot sauce and began chewing away.
Like a proverbial beaver with a log I battled, except that I have human teeth, not beaver teeth, and I can't ignore splinters, even if they are from re-fried tortillas instead of willow trees. I don't actually know what kind of trees beavers chew, and am pretty sure that they don't swallow them. Or add hot sauce. They just make houses.
I probably should have made a house out of that thing which had once been food, but instead I tried to see if my stomach acid would dissolve it. I assume that it did, though I can't be a hundred percent sure.
For all intents and purposes, I ground the quesadilla into what could have been sand, or could have been flour that had been put past its breaking point. I'm no longer quite decided on whether there is actually a difference.