For the Joy of Food

This has been one of the busiest semesters that I have had on record. Thanks to my handy-dandy Franklin Covey planner, I effectively plan out every hour of the day so I can keep track of where I'm supposed to be and all of the assignments I should be doing. It's a pretty good system.

There's one part of my life that I have not quite figured out yet. Food.

I'm pretty boring when it comes to my food schedules. I eat the same thing every morning during the week.

 +

and a big glass of 

Greatest breakfast combination ever invented. End of story. 

I pack a lunch to take with me to school, usually a pastrami sandwich, a billion carrots, an apple and a piece of bread or cheese. You'd think for a short 20-year-old, this would be enough to last me for a few hours. Au contraire! My stomach thinks differently. Inevitably, around 3:30, or when I have another 1 1/2 hour left of work, my stomach begins to dance. It wiggles and grumbles at me obnoxiously. Like a hardened veteran of stomach pain in the past, I do my best to ignore it and I refuse to give it the satisfaction of affecting the end of my shift. Nice try, stomach. Do your worst. I dare you.

I try and reserve eating my apple until after my shift because the joy I feel in experiencing that first bite is wonderful. I usually stop where I am on the sidewalk, close my eyes, and enjoy the delicious sweetness, looking like an idiot, I am sure. Nevertheless, I put up with the hunger simply because I know the beauteous moment that awaits me.

Walking home everyday from work, I have the opportunity/misfortune to walk by one of my favorite places in Provo: J Dawgs.

I can smell them coming down the street and it takes all of my willpower to resist going inside and buying one every day of my life. In fact, there is always a split moment where I have firmly decided to go inside. Mercifully, I am usually able to squelch this desire by reminding myself that I have food at home that I have already paid for. However, once in a blue moon, I allow my subconscious to surprise myself and I treat myself to a delicious polish dog. I never know before hand if I'm actually going to go in until I'm already standing at the counter, placing my order. Wednesday was one of those days.

Is it bad how much joy I find in food? For my sakes, let's assume it's perfectly normal. If it's not, please don't tell me. Just bring me a J Dawg instead.