Killing time in Eagan

I love a good, long lunch hour. Most days, I take forty-five minutes, which is how long some balding dude in the Chicago HQ determined lunch should last. Some days, when I feel like I've put out enough fires, I'll take a full hour. Fifteen minutes of extra digestion time can make a difference in how guilty I'll feel after not going to the gym.

The problem is that I work in Eagan, the culture equivilent of smooth-sandpaper. It's the John Mellencamp of cities. Once a month, when the new magazines come out, I'll drive to the book store and thumb through all the music ones, plus the men's special interest stuff. I'll buy not a one. Other days I'll wander the aisles of Wallgreens, and somehow manage to spend fifty dollars on merch like flash-drives, chocolate bars and stationary for letters I'll never write. The same is true with TJ Maxx. I'll leave with a shopping bag full of trippy paisely neckties.
Today I went to the Goodwill where I tried on a few blazers that were too small for me. It's a great place to spend time. I can spend a good half-hour going through the old coffee mugs, and wondering why anyone would throw out a perfectly fine throw-pillow...oh, wait, I see.

Most of the week I eat at my desk, since there's really nowhere else to go. Eagan has a lovely park, with old oak trees surrounding an artificial pond. I've fallen asleep in the grass on warm, summer days. It's January 14th. Still, I think it's best to leave the workspace, and get away from emails and calls.