Conor Cawley: The Same Breakfast

 

I make the same thing for breakfast, the same way, almost every single day.

 

I make eggs in a small teal pan that my girlfriend clearly bought.

I pour too much oil on the pan and spread it around with 5-6 leaves of spinach.

I add chopped onions and green peppers in the pan, mostly for color.

I go to my computer to see if anyone from work has said anything (I work from home, jealous?).

I forget to put salt and pepper on the eggs while they’re cooking because I was at my computer, and it just falls to the pan when I finally remember.

I remember I’m not making an omelette and start scrambling the eggs.

I reach for a plate and a spinach wrap (I know, two kinds of spinach, what am I, Popeye?).

I dice up half an avocado and three cherry tomatoes and line them up in the middle of the spinach wrap.

I drizzle some Sriracha on the spinach wrap like I’m a freakin’ gourmet chef preparing the mayor’s birthday cake.

I check the eggs again. They’re finished.

I dump the eggs from the pan directly on top of the diced avocado and three cherry tomatoes inside the spinach wrap.

I grab a cup of water, a banana and half a grapefruit that is already cut up, courtesy of the best girlfriend ever.

I waiter-style carry all that to the high top table in the window of my sixth floor apartment.

I sit down on the somewhat comfortable stool.

I wrap up the spinach wrap around the eggs, the onions, the peppers, the diced avocados, the cherry tomatoes, and the drizzled Sriracha.

I take stock of my everyday meal, at my everyday seat, in my everyday life.

I take a bite.

And I smile.

 

Or sometimes I’ll just have a muffin.