Picking up the pieces

The hum of the microwave is disturbed by a muffled pop. Uh oh. I spring the door and am greeted by an eruption of porridge.

Panic. What will I eat? It’s a long time until dinner.

My colleague continues her half of the conversation. She’s oblivious to my stress.

I pick up the dish. Ouch. It’s still hot. I put it down.

I dart across the kitchen for paper towel. I wrap my hands and gingerly lift the dish from the microwave. Give it a stir. The porridge is glue-like.

I assess my options. My last food was 6 hours ago. Nothing but water lies between now and dinner at 8pm.

When you’re living at this level mistakes mean more. If you burn the toast, undercook the pasta, or misjudge the egg, there’s no backup. You can’t pop out for a takeaway or find an alternative in the freezer.

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