The O’Hare SkyClub had a soup I hadn’t seen before, Wicked Thai Chicken. I contend it was neither wicked not Thai, but that was plausibly a piece of chicken. I ate and caught up with email. So many good books about to come out. 

I ate a thawed dish of black bean soup at my desk while reading the rest of Women’s Running. What a terrible magazine. With all my running magazines I wonder how in the world they pull of issue after issue. I mean, how much is there to say? But Women’s Running doesn’t work at all, their answer is to publish photos of makeup bottles, the same interview with a different celebrity every time. Truly terrible. Still re-upping my subscription because, I mean, it’s about running. Kind of.

I ate my lentil soup but of course that wasn’t enough so I ran out to get a sandwich at the sandwich place and ran into S. on the street corner. When I saw her two or three years ago right around the same corner she was hugely pregnant. Now she was with a guy pushing a stroller with two sleeping people in it. So I guess that’s how that worked out.

I ate the lentil soup and felt like a good person for doing so and then I was still ravenous so went downstairs to get a sandwich, aka real food.

I reheated a dish of lentil soup that K. had frozen for me in a white plastic yogurt container. I didn’t even know if the white plastic yogurt container was microwaveable, I just took a guess and it was. A hard icy chunk of lentil soup in the heart of the cup was a bummer, but the rest was just right, just exactly right.

I finished teaching my class at noon, heated up my lentil soup and ate it in my office, preparing for my meeting at 2. It was like a lunch out of a book about working in a white collar job.

Finished the soup, finished the sweet potatoes, staring at the Internet like you do when you don’t get to your lunch until 3pm because of filling out forms and paperwork and that sort of thing. Sweet potatoes. What a good idea. I ate two of them.

What do I love about K.? Many things. In part her efforts to facilitate my life, things like freezing portions of black bean soup and making extra sweet potatoes so I can eat a non-burger-and-fries lunch on a Tuesday afternoon at 3:30 between my class and my desk shift. That’s what I love, one of the things anyway.

I gave K. a bunch of shit for getting the soup on a nearly-90 degree day instead of the accompanying massaged kale salad, but her argument–we were already splitting a salad–became more compelling when I ate the soup and loved it. We could see Payette Lake from our table.

If you live in New York and you’re a member, you can pop into MoMA between medical appointments, use the bathroom, grab some lunch, see some dreadfully sexist art that you wish you could unsee, and then take off.