Thursday morning No. 6.

It was a rough morning and I accept full responsibility. I stayed out late last night celebrating a friend's birthday, and I arrived home later -- via the G train, no less -- to the reality of recycling day. I was cranky and hungry (and a little tipsy and tired). I didn't want to eat because of the hour, so I drank a glass of water and called it a day. It's no surprise this morning I was ravenous. And I should've done the easy thing and gone out to breakfast. Instead, I got lost on the Internet for an hour, started making coffee, got distracted by the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, then took a phone call from my brother. I was feeling excessively emotional about the 16 egg yolks I wasted because I had not stored them properly. We only had sliced bread. And old coffee, the stuff I turn to sheerly out of desperation. Worse still, I felt, for the first time, the pressure of my Thursday morning routine, and I was ashamed to write about yet another omelette.

Sometimes, I get ahead of myself. And that's when I take a deep breath (mom, that's for you).

Next, I put the kettle on for coffee. While waiting for the water to boil, I rinsed and chopped two gloriously large collard leaves. These things were bigger than my head, and I knew they alone contained the power to heal. But I went further. In a large skillet, I warmed two tablespoons of extra-virgin olive oil and added the ribbonlike greens. There were faint pops and sizzles, as they softened in a pinch of salt. After three minutes, I added a minced clove of garlic, and after a minute more, the juice of half a lemon. In a separate pan, I quickly soft-scrambled two eggs in a dollop of butter (all you have to do is stir them a few times over medium heat; I like to add a little salt). I had some kidney beans that had been cooked in a million herbs. They were part of an incredible soup, but today they were strained and piled atop my greens. The eggs followed, with three twists of the pepper mill. Breakfast, at last, was bright, buttery, crunchy, earthy, salty and sweet. It made me feel alive. I easily forgave the unfortunate toast.