Sitting in here in my cloffice in my new dress that looks like my old dress just in a different color, eating the half of last night’s dinner I didn’t eat last night, some music playing, know what I want and I’ve got enough of it.

It was good to finally eat this sad little unspiced dish of what was left in my refrigerator when I woke up this morning. At least I had part of a lemon left, that helped. Googleychatted with D. for a much needed LOLbreak, we mocked what we reliably enjoy mocking, omg you just made me snort, my favorites were the roasted beets, what a fantastic vegetable.

Serious can-of-beans lunch today, just dumped all my leftovers into a dish, spritzed with lemon, and ate as a cold salad after the 12 to 2 refdesk shift, an absolute killer for three-squares folks like me. When do you eat? 11? 2? My answer: 2 to 2:10. So hungry. We’ve entered that time of year, the I can’t find enough information about abortion so I’m changing my topic to psychological disorders and it’s due on Tuesday time of year, by the time I was done with my shift I felt like my brain was on fire. L. suggested watching this to relax. She was right.

I can imagine how it must have happened, how we all thought what I thought too, I’ll just do it after spring break. But saying that too many times has led to five classes this week, two at night; six meetings, one that will take half a day; rising PowerPoint demand; and the completion, duplication, and submission of too many forms to count. Swallowed my dish as fast as I could so I could run upstairs and set up the lab for today’s round one. The top of the quinoa had taken the shape of the lid; that’s what happens when you push down on it hard to remove all the air while the quinoa’s still hot.

Ate leftovers on the couch watching a television show, a Richard Pryor concert film, wow he says fuck a lot, smack in the middle of the day, wedged between a quick trip to see the tiny Lorna Simpson show next door (remind me to tell you about the sound of the gallery) and the errands of the afternoon, recycling and grocery shopping, that sort of thing. The moon’s supposed to bigger than ever tonight, and really I’m impatient for it. Sometimes days feel long, today the day feels long.

Morris J. Golombeck must be taking in a shipment of anise today, licorice wafting in through the windows, changing the way this pile of roasted asparagus tastes, over quinoa, eaten in time to the opening minutes of Michigan v. Tennessee. Go Blue.

And then sometimes you’re with B. in the basement of the local ISKCON temple eating the five dollar lunch plate, admiring the bold pink and orange walls, and telling each other to watch out for the hard bits in the quinoa salad.