We are a good team.

I made salami and cheese for lunch, but last night I dropped the salami and cheese on the floor, splat. I stared at it dumbfounded. Did I just do that? Yup. So I picked it up and showed the salami and cheese slices to Matt. Did you see what I just did? I said. Because it didn't happen if he didn't see. What did you do? he said. He was playing halo. No, reading the news. His economy blogs about how we're all going to die. I explained myself, what had happened, the cruelty of life, and then I asked if I should throw these meat slabs out, you know, since the floor had tainted them. Just wash them off, he said. Ever the wise one. I revert to a zombie after work, that drive.

And even now. Just got into the parking garage at 8:50 and left the house at 7:40. New York commutes are hard, don't get me wrong, but at least there you can sit on a bus or a train and read or write or do something. Not at all as draining as driving, especially in rush hour LA where homeless men jump in front of your car and bikers swerve into your lanes and crazy ladies are kissing their men and not watching the road. A lady pulled out today filing her nails - she just pulled her monstrous tank of a car out in front of me. Is that necessary? No. But she thought a non-commital wave would do. Thanks for letting me go. Tee hee.

So, I washed the salami and cheese off, inspecting the surface for dirt or tiny bits of hair or bug juice or anything else that would make me not want to ingest such slices (yeah, I know there's probably bugs and dirt mixed into salami and cheese when they make it, but at least you can't see it).

So, now the salami and cheese sandwich is in my book bag. Am I going to eat it? I don't know. The question of the day. Will I taste our kitchen floor when I do?

I'll probably just buy a sandwich. I have a coupon I should use.

Subwaaaaaaaay...