This morning my attendant accidentally poked me in the eye with my toothbrush. She felt horrible. I kept telling her that I was fine. It was true. My eye stung with toothpaste, but I knew I would survive. OK or not, a poke in the peeper is not the best way to start the morning. Another attendant made me oatmeal. She made it before I even got out of the shower and she filled my small coffee cup halfway. Everyone who has ever made me coffee knows that I like my coffee cup filled right up to the top. You shortchange me on coffee and I don't like it. My breakfast was cold. The attendant who made it for me thinks I have eating issues. I do. So does this particular attendant, but her issue is being obese. Her struggle makes me sad, as it's not too different from my own. My bowl of oatmeal looked unusually hardy. Part of me thinks the other attendant and the one today agreed to secretly give me two packets. My disordered thinking tells me they want to bulk me up. Maybe this is not true. Maybe this is me being nuts. Maybe there is some truth to what I am thinking. Maybe I am having a grouchy day.
As I lifted my spoon to grumpily take my first bite of oatmeal, I couldn't help but notice that it was one minute to the eleventh hour, of the eleventh month of the eleventh day. I took a minute and remembered those who have died in past and present wars. Maybe I did eat an extra packet of oatmeal. At least I am able to freely make choices - a luxury many lose lives fighting for.