E. and I tried again to meet and fill out the METRO workshop form and upload revisions to the encyclopedia entry, this time at the new coffee and sandwich place rather than the old one. Night and day when it came to sandwich fillings. A third fillings. That’s appropriate. We completed the tasks at hand and caught up on each other’s cats, all of whom have been sick. Turns out we love our cats a lot. 

I ate my lunch you would pack for a kid in a sliver of time between meetings. I had six hours of them, just hours and hours and hours of meetings.

I ate on the couch watching an episode of Scandal thinking that this would not be enough food no way, not for an athlete like me who ran six miles from home to the African Burial Ground NPS site over the Manhattan Bridge, not nearly enough food. And I thought about D.’s small white Wrightsocks, half the reason I started running in the first place, the chance to wear those socks too.

A. and C. from Nature tossed around plastic-wrapped sandwiches as we all sat circled up around an old campfire, looking out at the lake. K. chose PB&J for me when she signed us up, and she was right, though a little less grape jelly would have been fine, K. had turkey, there were leftover extra sandwiches, so many carrots and celery sticks, giant plastic bags of them. We went around in a circle and named, among other things, the best thing that happened this year. I got pretty sentimental because it’s been a pretty great year; another guy said being on a reality show. Then we went on a little hike and learned a thing or two about the trees in northern Michigan’s climax forest. That’s really what it’s called.

Sometimes it’s just very pleasing to make a sandwich on a plate and sit and eat it with a handful of carrots, knowing that the errands I woke up trying to remember (it was my job to buy the greeting card; I needed more rice milk) are already done, and it’s not even Sunday yet.

B. and I walked over to Metrotech and sat on a bench under the trees and talked about holiday weekends and job stuff and the New York Times Magazine. B.’s lunch was from a vegetarian steam table in the back of a health food store on Fulton that I didn’t even know about. This is why we have disciplines like knowledge management, so that when staff leave they don’t take everything they know with them.

I only have about eighty days to read the entirety of Icelandic literature, so got down to it while eating a lunch I packed myself that made me feel about seven years old.