Breakfast is a highly skippable meal for me.
In the ideal world, I’d eat it every day. It’s a wonderful meal. But it requires a certain amount of good habit-keeping in the morning, and here is where a javelin pierces my heel. Every day is a new promise to myself that the next morning will be different – I’ll just get up with the alarm, which is carefully set to give me ample time in the morning to do what needs to be done, and have plenty of time extra to make a decent breakfast, and get some early work done while I enjoy my coffee. Hey, maybe I’ll even get back into meditating!
But it doesn’t come to pass. I mean, there’s good weeks and not-as-good weeks.
So breakfast is special. Breakfast is for weekends. Breakfast is a hyperbolic time chamber in which to refresh myself. And I love it so.
Give me the savory. The sautéed greens, the cheesy corn grits, the smokey tofu strips, the scramble, the toast, the home fries — Oh, the home fries.
Okay, that’s it. Tomorrow I’m making breakfast.