Today’s schedule:

So far, so good. I’m definitely at work. I do have something of a dilemma, though, and it pertains to lunch.

[Proceed only if you’re seriously bored. What follows certainly won’t excite, but perhaps its sheer, plodding mundanity will prompt you to get off your ass and do something – anything – else for a while.]

If you’re still reading at this point, I’ll offer you a couple of suggestions for activities you might find more interesting than what follows:

• Trim your toenails. How long has it been? Don’t just tear ’em off with your fingers, either. That’s kinda gross. Get out the clippers and do a nice, neat job. You’ll feel better for having done it. Trust me.
• Water something. Anything, really. If you don’t have plants or animals that require occasional moistening, perhaps you could take a shower. I’m not implying that your hygiene is anything but top-notch, but let’s be honest: if you’re the type who has been tearing off their toenails, you could probably bathe more frequently, anyway.
• Spackle. ‘Nuff said.
• Train yourself to wiggle your ears. If you can do this already, pick another body part.
• Proofread the Internet. Yes, all of it. Every last word on every last page of every last site. Except the rest of this entry. Avoid that at all costs.

Still here? Well, I tried. One final warning: should you insist on plowing through the rest of this entry, I cannot be held responsible for the onset of any of the following: narcolepsy, ennui, apathy, tears (due to boredom). That said, off we go…

I’ve been taking a bag lunch to work four out of five days a week since the beginning of the year. There are a couple of reasons for this. First, eating lunch out five days a week gets kind of expensive after a while. Second, my bag lunches tend to include healthier options (such as fruit and low-fat yogurt) that I’m not going to get with General Tso’s chicken from China Express.

Laura packs my lunches for me, sometimes the night before, sometimes in the morning before I leave. Laura, of course, is on her way to Florida. She expressed some doubt as to whether I would pack my own lunches while she was gone. Seeing this as a challenge to my…well, I don’t know. Not manhood, really. But a challenge, nonetheless. It’s not so much a question of capability as one of discipline. I am certainly capable of making a sandwich or two and tossing them in a bag with some Light ‘n’ Fit yogurt, a bag of chips and maybe an apple. But will I? Will I remember to fix my lunch before I go to bed, or will I hurriedly throw something together in the morning, or will I completely forget about it and wind up eating at Panera, Chipotle and Quizno’s for an entire week?

Discipline. Discipline. Discipline.

Last night, after the D&D group left, I put all the empty two-liter Pepsi and Dr. Pepper bottles in the recycling. I cleaned the coffee table, rinsed all the various plates and glasses and loaded them into the dishwasher. I got rid of the leftover nacho cheese, gathered a half dozen various bags of chips and made sure the remaining contents of said bags wouldn’t go stale. I put the liquor away. I cleaned the litter box, fed the cats and got the trash ready to take out in the morning. I was a regular Mr. Belvedere.

I also made my lunch for today.

Careful, warned a little voice in the back of my head. Don’t be too self-reliant, or she’ll decide that you can pack your own lunches from now on.

The little voice in the back of my head is very lazy, but it has a point. See, there are a couple of areas in which I rely very heavily upon Laura.

First and foremost: finances. She handles the lion’s share of dealing with our money. She makes sure the bills are paid, she works out plans for debt reduction, she’s got her finger on our pecuniary pulse.

Second: wardrobe. As silly as it sounds, my closet is organized into acceptable pants-shirt combinations. I simply grab the first set in the morning and I’m assured that I won’t look like a color-uncoordinated twit at work. Because I am a color-uncoordinated twit. I can’t match a shirt with pants that aren’t black unless I get very, very lucky.

Third: lunch. She packs ’em.

That last one is pretty weak. Laura packs my lunches because I haven’t gotten into a pattern of doing it myself. She’s more nutritionally and financially tuned in to the benefits of my taking a bag lunch to work, so she makes sure I’ve got a lunch to take.

If I manage to take a bag lunch to work four of five days this week, I’ll have proven (perhaps distastrously) that I can exercise the necessary discipline to do it myself.

The lazy voice in the back of my head doesn’t like that. At all.

So tonight before bed I will battle with the lazy voice and the strange sense of responsibility that has enveloped me since Laura left early yesterday morning. Which will be triumphant? Tune in tomorrow for the mind-numbingly boring answer!