Left 7:06 AM | Arrived 7:37 AMThe angle of the sun is changing. Earlier everyday, the sun blazes through the windows of Norm's, laying itself across the whole restaurant. If I sit with my back to it, I can block its glare from my screen with my body, but it is orange-gold and blinding.
Today I will have two eggs, over easy, with sourdough toast and a side of fruit rather than hashbrowns. Let's see how that makes me feel. Then again, I really prefer scrambled to over easy. . . EOE or ES.
I'm wondering if the immense increase in morning coffee consumption is adding to the inflamed taste buds in my mouth, or to the sore growing on the inside of my cheek.
Meanwhile, allergy season has amped up to 9 or 10 out of 12 on the daily pollen reports, and the inside of my nose is dry and bloody, stinging and burning. Pressing the tip of my nose can squeeze a tear from my eye, like a tear dispenser. Daily running and walking is making my legs, knees, and upper-ass ache. I'm tired. I would imagine I was getting sick, but I'm pretty sure it's simple revolt against this three months of habit changes.
And yet, change is the only thing that keeps me sharp and sane.
Man, I told the waiter I needed a moment, and it's been many moments now. I'm not complaining; I'm amazed how hungry it's making me feel. I'm starting to fantasize about what I'll get, rather than reluctantly decide. Scrambled I think. Scrambled.
Here's an amazing conversation that I just overheard (boiled down to its essense):
"Yeah . . ."
"There are too many now! It's over-kill. They ain't special no more. There used to be 8 run a-day, now it's over-kill, it's over-kill."
"It used to be simple. That's what you're trying to say. It used to be simple."
"Too much like a job, trying to pick horses, now."
"Too much like a job."
"You think people still watch them game shows?"