Monday Morning Toast
It’s raining today. When I woke up at six it wasn’t raining yet, I was feeling awake, almost, and almost convinced myself to get out of bed to go running. Hours later when I actually woke up, an hour past noon, the rain had started and a general shade of gloom hung over the city. No running today then, how unfortunately fortunate.
After two cups of instant coffee I heard my stomach grumble. The daily decision to leave the house was upon me, I scrounged the kitchen for ingredients that would allow me to stay inside. A new jar of peanut butter, a few slices of white bread, and a glass canister of granola. I would not be leaving.
I turned on the toaster oven and slipped a piece of bread inside, set it on medium cook. It would be ready in a few minutes. I boiled water for a fresh cup of coffee and removed the plastic wrap from the peanut butter jar. It was natural peanut butter I had purchased from a nearby foreign goods store. The butter and oil had separated fully. I was struck by the minimum amount of panic that one can feel when preparing food, as now I would have to stir the peanut butter and oil until it became one again before my toast would be ready.
I grabbed a clean knife from the drying rack by the sink and stuck it in. Immediately my hand was doused in peanut oil, seeping into my bandaid on my thumb and dribbling down the sides of the jar onto the counter top. Frustration. I made some stabbing motions that continued the making of mess. My bandaid fell off. I took a moment to rinse my hands in the sink and dry them on a towel, tossing my wet and blood soaked bandaid into the nearby waste bin. I turned off the toaster oven and continued mixing, grueling work for a Monday morning. After seven minutes more I had mixed it an adequate amount for spreading on toast. I spread it on the toast, which was a little too toasted, and sprinkled some granola on top.