I ate a turkey sandwich from the Whole Foods by my therapist’s office in the core curriculum committee meeting. I can’t believe anyone is credulous about faculty governance in 2017, but what else are we going to with our lives?

The Q train was just pulling away from the station so I hopped on the R when it came so I could get back to work in time for my refdesk shift. I figured the local couldn’t really take that much longer, right? Wrong. Took forever, winding around lower Manhattan. Never again. I ate my salad on the train. Sure didn’t need more oil than that, but probably less lemon, and next time I’d dry my fruit better. I forgot nuts. It’s better with nuts. Now we’re all out of kale.

I called K. this morning. How do I massage kale? I followed her directions and then added cheese and blueberries and some walnuts. I forgot lemon, and there wasn’t enough cheese, and I used too much olive oil. Luckily lunch is iterative. I’ll get another crack at it tomorrow. I ate and read this book I want to finish today because I have one I’m more excited about waiting for me but I can’t not finish the book because that’s just who I am. Did you know that most people didn’t want to pay for the moon landing? Enjoyed the ride they’d already paid for, says Nye, but something like 60% thought the money would be better spent on things like food and healthcare and fair wages. Well, yeah.

Paying real money for things to drink still feels impossibly luxurious, even now, a decade into making a salary high enough to regularly pay real money for things to drink. I don’t even think about getting the juice anymore, I just get it. I put a can of lemon lime seltzer from home into my lunch bag this morning. Eating in my office in the twelve minutes between therapy and the refdesk, it was like I was practically in France.

Take the B69 or the B67 from the Church Avenue and McDonald stop to the Roma Pizza on 7th Avenue at Union, grab a slice, eat it fast, then run over to the coop and package raisins and dates and those weird carob greens snacks for two and a half hours. Repeat every four weeks on the Sunday. 

What do you like to get here? asked R., less versed in the way of the NYC diner. I got my usual, he got a BLT, we split a slice of blueberry pie. It has been twenty years now, maybe more. Everything is different but lots is the same too, his world has more colors in it than mine does, pie is better warm, Boise is a long way away but airplanes make it closer. 

I spent most of the day thinking about days to come, Chicago and then Manila. Packaged ramen because all we had in the house was ingredients, and then I climbed into my chair and took a nap.