One time, after I moved to Bellingham, and had this incredibly alone period of time where it was just me in the converted hospital and a pile of texts to read and interactions with strange new people, and a broken heart, and a new life, I woke up early, before my earliest class, and took myself out to breakfast. If you know how I am about mornings, you’ll know how strange this was. The night before, I was hungry for breakfast, and so I set the alarm early. Really, I was hungry for someone to have breakfast with. I ordered a full breakfast, eggs, meat, hashbrowns, enormous pancakes, and a bottomless cup of coffee. The servers treated me very gently, and I ate heartily. Then, I drove myself back to the converted hospital, walked up the hill to school, and faced the people in that class. It might have been the same day that Rose brought Krispy Creme donuts for everyone, and I remember wishing they’d come on one of the many other mornings when I was starved.
I wish we could go to breakfast. And be gentle with each other.
Breakfast? Yes! But gentle isn’t really our thing, is it?