How a Loaf of Bread Can Almost Derail a Day

The worst part about having a Brain that is constantly working against you is the fact that as it can cause you to lose focus, it can also cause you to gain hyper focus. Today, that focus fell to a loaf of bread.

Jimmy John’s (Subway’s tastier, awesomer little brother) sells day old loaves of their French bread for $1. I had it in me that I was going to eat my awesome, Kobe roast beef on one of these luscious, flour-y, tasty loaves instead of the honey whole wheat that had seemed like such a healthy, reasonable alternative on Sunday morning at Central Market. I got excited about this – I had it all planned out.

Alana was going to a baby shower, so I’d just grab her car while she was gone, drive the 1/4 mile to Jimmy John’s, get my bread, and enjoy my day. I could taste it. I could sense it. I don’t think I said a word out loud to her while she was making her PB&J before she left for the shower, but inside, I was ready.

And they were out. It wasn’t just that they were out of the day old; they wouldn’t sell me one of the loaves they had in the store! I was almost ready to pay the full price of a sandwich just to get the loaf. Fortunately, the sane part of my brain kicked in, and I walked out, dejected.

Now, see, for most people, this is a minor setback. For me, though, this almost derailed my day for whatever stupid reason. I wanted that bread; I’d created elaborate scenarios in my head about what this sandwich would taste like, and how much I would enjoy it. There would be mayo, a touch of mustard, lettuce, fresh roast beef, and bacon. It was there. On that delicious, delicious bread. My Brain convinced me that was all that mattered, and when that didn’t happen, I almost felt my sanity tear for a moment. I sat in Alana’ unairconditioned car for a moment, feeling almost despondent.

This wasn’t like waiting 6 months for the newest toy, then finding out they were out of stock. This was something I’d been thinking about for literally 30 minutes, and afterward, I was about ready to throw the towel in on the day, calling it a failure, because that’s what I felt like. Over a loaf of bread. Day old, $1 bread.

I hate you, Brain.

Fortunately, just when my head was starting to move towards my ass, I decided to pull it out and make the goddamn sandwich on boring bread. And it was tasty. Not as earth-shatteringly orgasmic as the day old French loaf was in my head, but it worked. And now I can go on with my day.

I can’t tell if it’s a testament to my meds, my wife, or my own will fighting the Brain, but a year ago, this could easily derailed me for a day. I would have shut down, done nothing, and watching reruns of American Dad on Netflix. Now, though, I can move ahead, with only a twinge of regret that I didn’t get my bread.

I know for a lot of you, this makes absolutely no sense. The idea that my day could hinge on whether or not I procured day-old bread for a sandwich seem like such an absurdity. This is the way I think, though, and if I’m not careful, that kind of thing can sink me. Stupid little things get in my way, bring up old memories, flash back past failures, and generally let my brain spiral out.

Today, though, I’m eating a delicious sandwich, sans French bread. And it’s ok.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in My Crazy and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to How a Loaf of Bread Can Almost Derail a Day

  1. SNslim says:

    I have three day old Subway in my fridge and I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t eat it…

  2. lisabrueck says:

    This makes total sense to me, the almost derailing of the day. It’s like when chaz eats the left overs in the fridge for lunch that I plan on eating for dinner all day and then I can’t for the life of me figure out what to eat, so I just don’t eat. Then when he comes home at 9 I’m a grumpy zombie.
    Also my nephew just started working at Jimmy Johns. He is the meat cutter/consolidator/delivery boy. He looks real handsome in his hat. He eats the old loaves of bread.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s