The art of making a sandwich
The Art of making a sandwich I wish I could shirk every duty I have and just go to the beach. It’s too bad my middle name is responsible, or this sentence would trail off into nothingness and all you would see are tire marks heading south. I’m a pretty big homebody. I love to be at home puttering around, doing laundry (Yes.), and folding said laundry. For some reason, it gives me satisfaction to watch the creases smoothed out in that wrinkly towel, fold it in thirds, and stack neatly with its towel-mates. Must be my semi-OCD rearing its ugly head? Maybe what I’m tired of is the routine. Get up, make coffee, drive to work, drive home, make supper, talk to my kids, talk to George, go to bed. I love the “kids and George” part of that scenario, but the word mundane comes to mind. I believe this is where people get tired and do dumb things in their lives. They begin to believe that there is nothing more for them than the everyday minutiae of seconds, hours, and days that