i dedicate this post to my mother

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Amy works from Maine and me from Washington state, so she gets a three-hour head start every workday. My morning ritual: wake up, groggily reach for phone, check mail, read a detailed list of my faults. I call it my morning "What You Screwed Up Last Night" mail.

Quite the cheery good morning, 'tis.

This mail instantly results in several hours of damage control and yesterday, like many days, I forgot to eat. One cannot propel fat fingers like mine on Diet Coke alone, and around 3pm, I started feeling nauseated from hunger.

"Oh. Right. Food."

I resolved to inhale whatever ready-to-eat food was available and get right back to work. I opened the fridge. All I had was leftover salad that Anna had made the night before.

"Fuck that noise," I said, slamming the door shut and thus choosing nausea over eating vegetables.