I have a problem.
I love food.
Part of it is that sugar and I are bffs. Well, not really. A real bff wouldn't take up residence on my tummy and thighs and try to convince people that I am pregnant again. Sugar and I have a love/hate relationship. But we're working through our issues.
I LOVE baking. It's like a need I have to fulfill. Not monthly, not weekly...almost daily.
But it's something I love to do. It's cathartic. Sometimes I don't even want to eat the product (although that is a rare occasion indeed, as I have an extremely high tolerance for sweet things--more so than anyone else I know. And much to the chagrin of my dear husband). I suppose it's the process I find comforting, fulfilling, enjoyable....whatever. It's fun.
I mix up cookies when I'm bored. I frost cakes when I'm upset. I bake chocolate and cream cheese filled cupcakes while Elyssa recounts tales of her first-graders' shenanigans. We sample brownie batter as we place bets on how many hours late our husbands will be getting back from their outdoor excursions.
(Not even kidding. We have learned to tack on at least three hours to any ETA.
Silas/Nick: We're going snowshoeing up to the hot pots, but we'll be home by 9 at the latest.
Translation: Don't expect us home before midnight. In fact, we'll probably be home closer to 2 am.
*sigh* But look how cute they are.)
Anyways, so if I fail my finals/my house is messy/the laundry sits in the dryer for 2 days/I forget your birthday/I don't feel like making dinner....
It's because I'd rather be doing this.
So delicious. I had eleven last night.
Have I mentioned my problem with self-control...?