Same lunch. Wished it was a burger. Stared at the Internet. 

This one on the subway to the bus to the airport, still I couldn’t finish all the ham in the package. If I don’t see another ham sandwich for awhile, that will be okay by me.

It’s about this time in the cycle when I start to wonder whether a better understanding of the repetition compulsion would lead to better packed lunches from home. It’s just been a tough week for leftovers, I’ve been eating every last scrap.

If you took a core sample right this second you’d find that I’m composed primarily of Robyn, quinoa chowder, and learning goals, objectives, outcomes, and measures.

Usually D. brings a spread, Boston lettuce and crackers and summer sausage and two kinds of cheese, grapes, apples. But he sat this one out with his hip, so we all brought our own, J. and his PB&J, T. with a profusion of little plastic containers, P. and a Subway sandwich in a plastic bag, me and the rest of my soup. J. brought cookies made by his daughters and a plastic bin of supplementary store-bought ones. I ate tons of them, my hand going all automatic and hungry.

I’m not even going to lie. I slouched in my rolly cloffice chair and stared blankly at my bookshelves, all Shakespeare and Bolano and old issues of C&RL News, and ate thin mint after thin mint after thin mint. I asked a student in class today whether she remembered us talking about the book catalog a couple of weeks ago when she came to the library with her class. Dunno, I was dozing. All the air leaked from my balloon. But as a colleague from Ghana always says in his wonderfully formal English, We can lead a horse to the river side, but we cannot make him drink.

Some days are rote. Some weeks are rote. At least the food part was taken care of.

Mixed it up a little, put some sour cream on top. And as I ate in my cloffice in the scant hour between public-face-gig-one and public-face-gig-two, I leafed through the book that came in for me today, decided sure, I’ll go ahead and read that next.

I ate while moving through a list of books, choosing the ones I wanted to keep and the ones I wanted to throw away in the garbage can. Kristeva, Rifkind, Benezet, you’re in. Directory of coastal resources management organizations from 1977? Your final day has come.

If I’m being honest, I was  a little skeptical about the personal stories at the beginning. I mean, who wants to read a personal story? Turns out, I think, that most people want to read personal stories. I know I did, flipping compulsively through the first few files from T.’s book. Can’t wait to get the rest.