C. and I went to the Thai place on Fulton and she picked up the tab this time because I picked up the tab last time. We talked assessment shop, a talk I still kind of can’t believe I can talk, but I can, and do, and get paid for it. Life is nuts.

The institutional lunch was really elaborate, steam trays of meats and vegetables, this was not your ordinary wraps. I stood in line with M. and J. and we goggled at the warning on the roasted vegetable tray: no turnips. But why? I found the desserts inedible and was happy for the cookies that arrived later in the afternoon.

What comes with the chicken and rice platter? I asked, and the answer, chicken and rice, should have sent me in another direction, but I was not making the best choices. I took it to go and ate on a bench on the train platform, mistaken in my belief that the 1:03pm would take me home to New York-Penn Station. Nope. Only going to Trenton. I waiting until 1:20 for the pokey old local.

I made a plate of my leftover birthday dinner from K.’s refrigerator and ate it at the table while reading my new book. K. was at a PBAT panel at the high school, the cat was sprawled all over the table. I’m so lucky.

I heated up a frozen dinner and ate it on the couch watching television. And then I popped some popcorn and ate it on the couch watching television. What’s abject?

Why not get the P.F. Chang’s sake flight with the spicy chicken lunch special? When in Rome!

Not even the torrential downpours of the season’s first tropical storm east coast remnants could keep me from post-Pilates lunch plans with J. Although she’s at least a little bit right, I made the trip mostly to see her new haircut. Should I go to Haiti? Should I go to graduate school? So much to discuss over lunch specials.