Last night, before going to bed, I took some extra time to prepare a batch of my delicious chicken salad.
I took care to make it a good batch, filled with perfectly grilled chicken, not too much mayo and my secret ingredients that make it, in my opinion, the best chicken salad ever.
Then, when the batch was made, taste tested and found to be perfect, I loaded it up into a container.
I packed that container along with an already packed container of soup, a bag of my favorite chips, and a bit of cough syrup into a small shopping bag.
This little bag of goodness was meant to go to work with me Monday morning.
I'm not trying to save money, although packing my lunch meets that goal.
What I AM trying to do is take good care of myself.
How many people think they *should* take their lunch to work, then pack a dried up lunch meat sandwich, a mealy apple and a bag of pretzels?
Or, even worse, they toss a Healthy Choice frozen entrée into their work bag and think that will satisfy them for the afternoon.
No.
I approach packing my lunch with all the care a doting mother would shower upon her cherished child.
It's like a love letter from Sunday Night Me to Monday Morning Me. A gift. A bit of home to remind me that even though I must work in a standard gray cubicle farm, I'm still an individual. I’m different.
I matter enough to have Sunday Night Me go to the effort to make something nice and not just something slapped together.
I actually look forward to my lunch today. I'm not looking for ways to get out of eating what's in the office fridge. Nope, I can hardly wait until noon.
And I'll eat my meal prepared with love and I will feel loved and I will know that I did a very good thing for myself.
Heck, caught up in the swell, I almost want to write myself a note to surprise me at the bottom of the lunch bag.
"Have a good day, dear. Someone at home loves you."
