oatmeal for dinner.

It hit me while I was at the grocery store this evening, buying ingredients for some sort of made-up vegetarian burrito thing, that I didn't want to cook dinner. I didn't want to talk to one more person, write one more email, or think about one more photo related thing I needed to cross off of my gigantic list. At that point I didn't care that I had an aging avocado, lime, jalapeno pepper and bag of cilantro at home that desperately needed to be wrapped into a tortilla with black beans and cheese before it went bad. It occurred to me at that moment that lately I have said "yes" way, way too much. I have slept way, way too little. I have stretched myself far, far too thin.

So what did I do? I ate half a banana, two tortillas, and a hunk of cheese on the way home from the grocery store. I didn't make burritos and instead made lists. I made lists of everything on my brain right now, which filled up several sheets of paper. Then I did laundry, talked to two dear, far-away friends, and ate a bowl of oatmeal with brown sugar and sea salt. I didn't even bother to add nuts, or fruit, or butter. (And if you know me, I always, always add butter.) It was a weird day and an even weirder dinner. But that bowl of oatmeal was full of simplicity and comfort, the two things I had craved all day.

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