For the second time since I got my job eight months ago, I did not eat a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. The first time was just a bad day. The bread was moldy and I was running late, so I wound up with a turkey sandwich from the vending machine. It tasted as bad as it sounds. This time was different, though. I actually decided to make something different. A tuna sandwich. It was fine.
When I was in college, I ate a turkey sandwich for lunch virtually every day for three years. The food was awful at my college. Cold cuts were hard for them to mess up. My friends and I used to joke about never eating turkey again after we graduated. I knew that wasn’t true, though. I never got sick of it. I still enjoy a turkey sandwich.
I feel like this says something about me, the fact that I can eat the same thing virtually every day without getting bored or tired of it. I don’t know what it says, though. Maybe I really like routine. Maybe I love peanut butter (and turkey). Maybe I lack imagination. Maybe I don’t care about food. Maybe I’m poor. Maybe it’s all those things, and then some.
I don’t know why I went with tuna today. It didn’t seem to affect the day at all. Tomorrow, I’ll most likely be back to peanut butter, but one never knows. . .
