At what point in my life did eating lunch become a chore? I remember scores of lunches underneath trees, my jeans getting damp from the impromptu picnic, my ankles itching from the blades of grass that pricked the strip of skin between my sock and my leg. I played House under the walnut trees with Lucky 10-Key. I tested out being a disillusioned thirteen year-old with English Diva. I swapped magazines and tapes of Buffy with Notorious M.A.G. Now I wander around the grounds debating on what gourmet meal I will heat up in the microwave. Will it be a teriyaki chicken rice bowl or a Hot Pocket? I long ago gave up the notion of getting up early to make a sack lunch. The thought of eating a sandwich in solitary was too much to bear. I used to rally my spirits in between classes with shameless flirting and gossip. Now I walk around with an iPod and hope to be mistaken for a student on her way somewhere and not a twenty-something lone luncher. What figuratively eats at me is how quickly life can change. I used to eat out every lunch hour. The BF would trek the fifteen miles to my vicinity, but gas and budgetary concerns necessitated some cut-backs. Then I became the “social director” of my small office, and invitations to lunch required The Rules-like diligence. I accepted lunch invitations for Friday no later than Wednesday. I was on the VIP list of Ladies that Lunch! Then Nancy K. broke her arm. She can barely make it to work, much less restaurant hop. Then Suzie Q. left for a business trip. I won’t event tell you how much that sucks on so many levels. The only one left on the list is Julia J., and I think I’d rather eat glass than eat with her again. She’s one of those people that proclaim to dislike all things cool. I guess I would too if I was as tiresome as her.
Instead of dwelling on my lack luster menu today, I decided to be productive and write to you instead. Yet, even in the computer lab I can’t shake the longing for a real lunch with my Gal Pals!