#sandwichetry

[wordrummager]

Same sandwich, different bread Most mornings, I make a sandwich and most days, it falls apart a little in its container in my lunch bag. My lunch involves scooping the innards and tucking them into my mouth. I don’t mind because it’s just me, after all. But when I make a sandwich for someone, I take more care. Things don’t fall apart. I thought pitas would help- they’re bread containers themselves but no, my turkey peeks out and my provolone unrolls outside the pocket. I have to laugh, at my sandwich-making, about how I’m settling for myself, even how I notice something so stupid. A couple of weeks ago, I splurged for Italian rolls and they held my stuff together. But it felt like a luxury, and not penance and that sort of shocks me, seeing as I’m a recovering Catholic and thought I had left the guilt of being born behind. I think of mindfulness as I eat my sandwich. I think about not feeling worthy. I think I may need some mayo next time.