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.

A. and C. always bring plenty of food, I added some cheese and S. brought some fruit, we had a picnic at a table in the sun before kicking off three hours of wandering around Storm King. I hadn’t expected the scale, I knew the sculpture was site specific and enormous, but it was even bigger than that, bright¬†against the spring green hills.

I made O. and I turkey sandwiches and goldfish crackers and we ate at the table while everybody else moved around the kitchen and K. talked on the phone. I was shocked, shocked that O. would eat a sandwich with spinach on it, but there you go. H. complimented me on my crust-removal technique. Sometimes people take so much of the sandwich.

Mom and S. in the kitchen finishing dinner, L. swanning around being five, A. drinking wine on the couch, J.’s telling me the rules of UFC: No biting, no eye gouging, blood that impedes visibility will stop the fight.¬†

Spent from my four block walk to the drugstore, spent, soup and crackers, what effort.

It is so wonderfully quiet in here today, save for the thunk and thwap of the Twins/Indians game on the television set.

I know no matter what I do, the first time I take these new shoes out on the town by which I mean wear them to the cloffice my feet will bloom red and blister. Still, I tapped around in them while preparing my lunch, trying to break them in and alarming the cat who didn’t cotton to the noise. I read a short story from Jim Shepard’s new collection while I ate, boy do I like him. As in, In the moonlight he’s just a naked guy, most of his weight on his hands. A good thing to remember when I’m feeling too terribly exceptional.

I ate cheddar cheese slices on apples and watched Ken Burns’ Baseball while waiting for baseball to start. I like being this normative, though I suppose by now I also ought to have a baby and own some property. What can I say, I do what I can.

Really all I needed were matchstick carrots, a dish of ranch dressing, and a small milk and I would have had a lunch suitable for an elementary school child. I ate while reading the introduction to one of the books that came in for me via interlibrary loan today. You know I run a pretty tight ship around the cloffice here, inbox zero, file folders in a neat stack to my right, everything tied down to the hull and all that. Interlibrary loan books are the sad exception, had to return a stack of unopened ones in order to take these out. I’m always getting blocked by our administrator, my privileges revoked. Here’s an area that needs some workflow analysis. I should appoint a committee.

I ordered the airplane version of the cheese and crackers tray–good, but no Amtrak Vermonter–and relaxed into an inflight afternoon of soothingly predictable true crime television on Lifetime.