As I sit here over a bowl of oatmeal, a thought strikes me. Actually, I'm not so much over the bowl of oatmeal as I am in front of it. Or am I behind it? That's a difficult preposition.

Anyway, I was thinking, why am I eating this? And then I thought, why am I writing about this in my blog? Then I paused for a moment and pressed Enter a couple of times to start a new paragraph.

Unlike my health-conscious brother, who's getting a little behind in his bloggings, I can't stand oatmeal. I don't know why. Maybe it's the texture, in part. It's kind of like that paste mix that used to be a part of every art project in elementary school. The kid next to me ate some of it, which was truly repulsive. I bet he was all blogged up for days.

And in part, it's the lack of any identifiable flavour. Unless you add cinnamon, sugar, apples, or raisins (which, in oatmeal, can be easily mistaken for boiled bugs), it's like eating a whole bunch of pasty nothing. How can anyone make this stuff a regular part of their day?

I should hardly criticize, I suppose... lately, my regular breakfast has become the grease-soaked "number 4 meal": the dreaded Sausage McMuffin, a puck-like object that they call "a hash brown", and black coffee. No kidding, it is just oozing with grease (as am I after I eat it). By the time I get to my cubicle, the bag has a large spreading stain, and the napkins are almost as tasty as the greasy puck they were wrapped around.

And if I can go off on another tangent, how can they call those pucks "hashbrowns"? Real hashbrowns are a flavourful pile of deliciously fried potato chunks. Not a deepfried potato-matter puck!

And now we get to the real reason why I'm blathering on about breakfasts. I finished my bowl of oatmeal, and I still feel like I haven't eaten breakfast. If only I lived next to the Dutch Wooden Shoe on Cambie. Some smoked salmon hash-n-eggs would truly hit the spot right now.