I don’t like to think of myself as one of those people who are change averse.  I’ve always been the one who was eager to go someplace new, to see something new, to try something new.  I am classic ADD from the “Oh, a shiny object” school.  If it glitters even a little, I’m fascinated.

Except in the morning.  

As you probably know from my “Thank God for Starbucks” post, morning is not my adventurous time of day.  It’s not even my most coherent time of day.  I do not function well in the morning and I need as few obstacles as possible as I make that long trek to consciousness (which can sometimes take until noon or so).  Starbucks has long been my morning haven, the place I can go where everyone knows my drink and where I know they know my drink, where it’s smooth sailing through those foggy hours.

Then came the La Boulange purchase.  Oh, it happened months ago and they said at the time that all my beloved pastries and sandwiches would eventually be traded out for LB fare.  But not all at once.  I’ve been able to push that prospect out of my mind because my fave store in Noe Valley hasn’t been sucked up into that change. Not yet.

This morning I found myself at the Embarcadero and needy of my morning latte and a nosh.  I spotted the beautiful round green and white sign, ducked in and stopped short in front of the display case.  What the hell?  I was faced with new things.  New things – in the morning!

I heard a little voice in my head.  It was small at first, then it grew and grew, like the Whos on Christmas morning.  Only this wasn’t a happy Wa-hoo Da-hoo voice.  It was a scream.  “No-o-o-o-o-o-o!” it wailed.  “Not new things in the morning!”

Square cookies?  Square scones?  Apricot-blueberry squares?  (Why was everything suddenly square?)  All I wanted was my regular slice of pumpkin bread.  (That was rectangular.  Wasn’t that close enough to being square to survive?  All squares are rectangles, after all.)  I was losing my grasp on reality.  It was all too much to take so early in the day with neither caffeine nor sugar to prepare me.

I pulled myself together enough to speak when the shouting of the people in line behind me got louder than my internal banshee.  It was little help, though.  I had to make a choice – a choice! – at 8:30 in the morning.  Who does that?

“Uh, uh, uh – raspberry loaf,” I blurted.

Crap!  Why did I say that?  Why would I eat raspberry loaf at this hour?  Why didn’t I get some sort of breakfast sandwich?  Oh, I don’t know.  I don’t know!

Later, after I’d scurried to a table, wolfed down the (passable) raspberry loaf, and finished my latte, I used my desperate need for a refill to casually (I thought) peruse the display case again to scout out what I’d want for next time.  I’ve settled on a blueberry scone.  I don’t care that it’s square.  If I know that in advance, I can deal with it.  Maybe I’ll cut it into two triangular scones so it’ll seem more normal.  Yes, that’s it.  Excellent problem-solving skills.  I may even mention this in my next job interview.

Deep breaths and baby steps.  Those are the keys.