I walked out this morning in my linen pants and orange golf shirt in the 11°C weather. The sun was just over the horizon and a light fog was in the air, washing everything in a thin orange haze. It was so refreshing to be cold again, to see my breath hang heavy in the air. Maybe I was just hyper from exhaustion, but it felt as if nothing could possibly be wrong on a day like this.

The saturday morning ritual is as follows:

8:00 am — Wake up, get dressed, search change tin for $5.18 sandwich money
8:15 am — Leave apartment for table tennis practice, listen to Billy Talent’s self titled debut album on the way there
9:00 am — Arrive at club, play for two hours, lose half of body weight in sweat
11:00 am — Curse how fast the time went by, leave club, listen to Thrice’s Artist in the Ambulance album on the way back
11:30 am — Arrive at Centre, purchase roast beef sandwich at Michelle’s Baguette. If answering “please” to every topping suggestion, the person will go in the back and get the freshest lettuce leaves
12:00 pm — Arrive home, put on boring television to fill silence but not distract too much from the sandwich, savour multi-layered taste of roast beef on freshly baked poppy seed bread with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, and mayo, thank the gods of lemon iced tea
12:15 pm — Shower
12:25 pm — Go back to sleep

I have discovered grilled cheese with ketchup.

I need chicken soup. I need a fresh baguette. I need softened sliced carrots with the slight bitter taste of ginseng. I need fall off the bone chicken, baked in broth, white from cooking.

I need to laugh. I need to sing. I need to shout.

I need to lose myself.

I need.

I am determined that colby makes the best grilled cheese sandwiches.

When I was young, I discovered that toast can be enjoyed without spread. I would pull the crust off, then split the toast in two (widthwise), so that both toasted sides became separated. Each side would then be eaten slowly, carefully, so that as much toasted surface would come in contact with my tongue as possible. The best part was feeling the rough surface graze my tastebuds while the soft centre became latched to the roof of my mouth.

I had always believed that such an eating method was unique, and never thought that anyone else would know of this. However, Allison told me that this is her preferred method of eating toast, and now I understand the method as being more esoteric than unique. I wonder who else knows about such a thing, and how they came about that knowledge.