I’ve been canceling plans left and right.  Despite my claims of “I don’t watch TV,” I’ve opted to circle home to Linus for an evening of stacked Gilmore Girls episodes via Tivo.  I’m stressed and need time off to clean my apartment and negotiate my expansive to-do list.  But tonight, I’ve got a black tie dinner event over La Bohéme at the Metropolitan, and tomorrow dinner at Bivio for Smelly’s birthday.  Saturday I’m running through errands for Saturday night, deciding what to wear, hair and nails get “done.” 

Lately I don’t know what’s real.  I’ve been dreaming, and upon awaking, I don’t know if I dreamed it or if it happened.  On point, I had a dream, or saw a commercial before I fell asleep, that there’s a mucus pill you can take which breaks up your mucus so coughs are more productive.  I have a dry cough lately… the pill would be a dream.  I dreamt God was communicating through a grilled cheese sandwich.  Some people pick chicken soup or Middle Eastern food as their ultimate comfort foods.  God and I pick grilled cheese.  God’s was imprinted with The Virgin Mary and being auctioned on eBay.  But I might have heard that on the radio as my alarm sounded.  Tonight, over La Bohéme, at least the coughing is mandatory.  Still, I hope the magical mucus pill exists.

In a cab on my way to work this morning, I found love.  Not the kind where he helps you out of a cab and you just know—the pamphlet kind.  Two golden hearts with "Love Is…" on the cover caught my eye.  It was like being at a bad wedding in a yellow cab because it began with Corinthians 13.4-8a and rounded out with Romans 12.9-18.  God is communicating through taxicabs and sandwiches.  Maybe it’s time to go on a diet and take the subway again.