And when I say I bake? I mean, I really freaking bake.
On my counter? Are brownies. And another pan of brownies, which are low-fat. And a third pan of brownies, which are peanut-butter. PEANUT-BUTTER BROWNIES Y'ALL.
Also? I made cookies. Chocolate chip with chunks of Hershey bar.
The other day? I made homemade blueberry muffins. And cinnamon bread. Two loaves.
And I haven't eaten one bite of any of it. Not even one bite.
Because it's not about eating. It's not even about the food. Maybe years ago the food would have been a comfort. Not now. Now the food seems...dangerous is the wrong word. But maybe dangerous. Maybe I just like living on the edge. I don't know.
I just know I don't mess up when I bake.
See, I get cookies. I pull pans and pans out of my oven and they are beautiful and just right. I've practiced with cookies. I know exactly when to turn the pan. Exactly how much brown sugar to put in. The exact right moment they are ready. Perfect.
And the thing about cookies is? If you screw it up? You can give them to your dog or, if necessary, your trash receptacle. And life goes on. You make another batch and no one knows the difference.
Nothing else in my life is as easy as cookies. Nothing.
I don't understand my husband. Or my work. Or a great number of other things in my life right now.
I can't fix any of it. I feel like everything is so messed up and I don't understand. I mess up so many things on a daily basis and I just feel really helpless in so many areas of my life.
But I understand baking. I don't mess up cookies.
I didn't think chocolate chips were so philosophical. But there you go.