When in Doubt, Eat a Sandwich

I’m not exactly sure what people do at 2AM on weekends, but I always find myself in bed late at night curled up with my brother’s dog (who i babysit when my brother has company over), a book I’m taking too long to read (i usually read pretty fast), my phone (which i spend countless hours on stalking instagram accounts (I have no shame in it)), and whatever food binge I’ve scavenged from the fridge and/or pantry (depending on how not hungry I am (because let’s face it the only reason we go to the fridge or pantry after 10 o’ clock or so is because we are so not hungry that we need to satisfy our not hungriness (and also because we’re bored))). Tonight, after being an emotional girl most of the day (it happens, okay), I thought about what I was going to feed my sadness with. Would it be the cookies I had stashed away in my closet that my mom had yet to discover? The French Toast sticks I convinced my dad to buy at SAM’s? Or maybe the chips I bought on my break–oh wait I gave those away.

In the end I wound up in my bed empty handed (which I’m sure my mom would have loved because she hates when i eat in my bed, but i do it anyway because what kind of daughter would you be if you actually listened to your mom? (not a real one, that’s the answer)), moping and looking through Yahoo! News because sometimes I just want to mope about nothing in peace while I read the world news.

My brother has a friend over and his dog (Titan) gets too excited with new people, so Titan came running to me when I opened the front door with (very) high hopes that I will open my brother’s bedroom door for him (he doesn’t have thumbs (he’s a dog)). He was out of luck. I let him into my room and helped him up on top of the bed (he is either too heavy or too out of shape to jump up on it himself anymore) where he quietly lay for a good five minutes while I sulked in bed thinking about how today was so awful. I only jogged two miles when I could have sucked it up to run a third, I woke up at 10:30 instead of getting my day started early at 9 or something, I only worked for four and a half hours–not even a whole shift!–and the medicine I was taking for my infection (“Quit calling it an infection, Laura. It’s not an infection,” my mom says and rolls her eyes as she does so.) had totally kicked my butt, and oh wasn’t my day just terrible?

(In case you haven’t realized, there was actually nothing wrong with my day (except for when the ice cream i had during my break made me feel sick and that was quite disappointing) and I think I was actually just being way too dramatic about it all.)

I got a solid 5 minutes of moping in before Titan started to cry (for pit bulls to be depicted as some scary, rabid creature, he sure is a big ole’ baby). And if he could talk I swear he was telling me about how terrible an aunt I am for keeping him confined in my bedroom (and also that he felt a little played since that box of Reese’s Pieces he was sniffing on my bed was empty (I’m a terrible person)). At this point I got frustrated and went to my friend The Pantry for help. She (or He) had no advice (aka nothing good to munch on), so, defeated, I started the long lonely walk back to my room.

And that’s when it hit me.

What satisfies you morning, noon and night, anytime, any place, forever and always and has never let you down?

I’ll give you a hint.
Rhymes with fandwich.

It was indeed a sandwich. Two lovely pieces of sliced turkey with a bologna slice in between (not for taste but because I couldn’t decide which to choose), a perfect square of American cheese slapped between two white clouds of bread. Was it the best decision I’ve ever made? Yes, of course. So good I had to blog about it.

(But really I didn’t have anything else to blog about because as it turns out, my life is not nearly as interesting as I’d hoped (not that I had high hopes or anything).)

I thought maybe I had some really cool perspective on the world and I would write insightful pieces about me finding my way, but nope.

Close, but no cigar.

I’m still a 19 year old girl with bad eating habits (but I have semi-decent exercise habits and I’m no math major, but I’m sure that evens out). I lay with a dog to think about the world and stalk people I don’t know on Instagram or Twitter until I can’t keep my eyes open anymore. On the weekends, I tell long stories about the sandwiches I eat to people who won’t even read it, and that’s as insightful as I get, and yeah, maybe sandwiches cure my mopey moods, but if that’s what it takes. Then hey, why not?


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