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Happy Friday!  This is such a welcomed weekend… for really no good reason.  I woke up this morning with my bedside window opened, and for once, wasn’t just cursing the sunlight for keeping me from 10 extra minutes of sleep.  It was gorgeous outside.

I had decided last night to leave early and get Dunkin’ Donuts for everyone in my department today.

Embarrassing confession that is 100% not a lie:  I got lost on my way from the DD to work.  Each of these establishments is within 7 minutes of my house.  I don’t even know what to say.  It was absolutely worth it (and it helps that I still wasn’t late).

A caramel latte, a black coffee with cream on the side, a chai tea, and a nonfat vanilla latte for moi.  The reactions were all equally adorable.  I got a huge smile with a story about how a hot beverage was impossible this morning because of motorcycle transporation, a “oh, no way” I heard down the hall, and the last literally threw her hands into the air with fists a-blazing, and screamed “yes!”  No joke.  So worth it.  🙂

Lunch was thrown together within one minute, and just what I hoped it would be.

My new favorite black bean burger, with a wedge of Laughing Cow and some tomato paste, on wheat toast.  Not to lessen how incredible this burger was, I was perusing my latest issue of Eating Well magazine (Oct 2010) after work, and they have great articles this month.  I was just considering downsizing and only keeping Vegetarian Times, but every page peaked my interests.  There was an article called What’s in Your Veggie Burger? It talked about the process of separating whole soybeans into soy oil, protein, and fiber.  Apparently some use hexane, which apparently acts as an eye and respiratory irritant and causes vertigo and headaches in workers exposed to it…?  Maybe this is one of the reasons for the difference between “whole soy” foods and foods like this – why it’s OK to eat more “whole soy” foods.  I just started hearing about this, though.  Any insights?  They also had an article about my favorite meal: breakfast!  And I read it after having this for dinner:

Old-fashioned oats with pumpkin and 1/2 banana, topped with a little Crofter’s Asia and pb2 yogurt topping.

I can’t help it.  Breakfast foods are delicious.  No matter if they’re at 6:30 AM before actually waking up for work, breakfast at 2:00 PM on a Sunday, or midnight on a no-sleep night (it’s happened in my past more than I’d like to admit).  After this one, I headed out to the gym for another bedtime walk with Love in the Time of Cholera.  The writing is so beautiful.  I was grinning while walking along, but I also started worrying I would start crying at the gym!  At least the occupants were <20 at 8:30 on a Friday night.  I’ll leave you with a few quotes, maybe just because I want to read them again that badly.

He had lost all track of time, and did not know where he was when he awoke facing a large, dazzling window.  The voice … brought him back to reality: he was in his mother’s bed.  He had kept her bedroom intact, and he would sleep there to feel less alone on the few occasions when he was troubled by his solitude.  Across from the bed hung the large mirror from Don Sancho’s Inn, and he had only to see it when he awake to see Fermina Daza reflected in its depths.

He had convinced his mother to buy him a blind man’s violin, and with the five basic rules given him … in less than a year he had dared to … serenade Fermina Daza from the paupers’ cemetery according to the direction of the winds.  If that had been the case at the age of twenty, with something as difficult as the violin, he did not see why it could not also be the case at the age of seventy-six, with a one-finger instrument like the typewriter.  He was right.  He needed three days to learn the position of the letters on the keyboard, another six to learn to think while he typed, and three more to complete the first letter without errors after tearing up half a ream of paper.

And so he planned everything down to the last detail, as if it were the final battle: new intrigues, new hopes…  It had to be a mad dream, one that would give her the courage she would need to discard the prejudices of a class that had not always been hers but had become hers more than anyone’s.  It had to teach her to think of love as a state of grace: not the means to anything but the alpha and omega, an end in itself.

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