size six

I knew I really didn't want a bagel for breakfast but I left the house before eating anything. A bagel it would be. "Our toaster is broken," he said. "That's fine; I can toast it at the office."

Instead, I start a minor fire in the kitchen.

No bagel for me.

Breakfast was coffee.

Lunch would be a frozen meal, and while cheap and unsatisfying, I'm certainly not going to buy more food when I'm leaving for eight days.

I pull the hot meal out of the microwave, where it had been hanging out for exactly four minutes. My stomach is growling. I need sustenance. Coffee is not a sufficient breakfast.

It slips out of my hands and onto the floor. Upside-down.

No lunch for me.

Lunch is water.

The universe doesn't want me to eat today.