Monday, February 26


i like makeup.
i said it.
i also like making up- stories, recipes, plans, etc.
i even like to make up- the kind that leads to making out,
even if it sort of has to be preceded by a falling out and/or falling apart.
mostly, though i like making up something to eat.
and if it can combine one or more of the other ones, too?
that's even better.
i'm an emotional baker.
i am.
like, the process is a meditative catharsis for my troubles and woes.
i'm not even a little bit kidding...
so whenever i'm unsettled, anxious, worried, or stressed,
nothing works better than baking up a little somethin' somethin',
to make sense and order using step-by-step creative problem solving.
i made a single layer square cake,
and i used a big bucket of frosting to do it.
i really don't think i have anything i could write to really accurately measure
how much of each ingredient was in it-
in the moment of concoction,
i was busy as heck soothing the savage stormswept battle-beast in my heart, man;
adding up cups and teaspoons seemed a whole lot less important
than working out the kinks and bumps in my F*ing feelings.
bake therapy?
is that a thing?
it might be.
after all,
what else should i be doing to deal with disappointment and despair, dudes?
it's harder to be dissatisfied with the WHOLE world with a slice of cake in your face.
word up.
making up something usable tangible to focus on and feel better about sounds good to me.
esoteric ideals are great, but have you ever HAD a terrific cake?
that's better in the here and now by a long shot.
y'ever even seen a frosting based cake?
well, let's remedy that right now- check the frosty-raspy-chee'-type teleport:

i was accused of being gross for having a tub of failed frosting in the fridge.
which is fair, because i regularly make grandiose accusations of despicable doings
for far less, and far more often.
i'm not sure i was wrong to hold onto it.
sure, i effed it up, and i couldn't recover anything usable from it for the top of a cake.
it was sloppy, gummy, and just too wet a batch of blops-
even with a baby bit of coconut that added nothing to the consistency.
(although the flavor benefited from it's inclusion.)
the thing is- it had a purpose.
i just had to think a little harder, under a little more pressure to produce something,
while i worked through my mixed-up feels about other other stuff-
i'm telling y'all: baking is my meditation.
here's how my brain worked-
butterish, sugarish, vanilla, milkish, and coconut are all things that go in cake,
so instead of creaming together the rough stuff,
we could just use up what's right there sitting around not contributing to much at all.
and it worked.
one big tub of 'frosting', a few extra pats of buttery vegan replacement,
a few cups of flour, MORE coconut, a little salt and some baking powder and soda,
all just tossed into the experimental mixing bowl,
and thinned out with some non-dairy milk...
it looked like batter to me, man,
and when i dropped those goobieblops of creamchee' and raspberry jammie-jam
all over the top of the right-angled brownie-style baking pan,
i knew i was onto something.
i wish i'd been less distracted and mutteringly curmudgeonly while this was happening,
as it stands, i still get to eat the thing,
and it's as expert as anything has ever been.
i was up for forty hours straight.
i'm NOT bragging.
i've got strong feelings, bro-
and they're sometimes stronger than sleep.
i did crash into a near coma, for eight actual in a row hours, afterwards.
it was an inevitable collapse.
all day from before the breaka-break o'dawn, through the darkest night,
and on through until the following jaun.
i was so worn down and worn out and broken up that
even on half a pot of caffeinated coffee,
i was still subdued and softer-spoken than usual.
oh. do you not know about caffeine and me?
it's a terrible combination-
like baking soda and vinegar, with exxxtra piss, just to spice it up.
under normal circumstances volatility and vitriol are the expected results,
but paired with actual exhaustion?
i just sort of yawned through the day instead of exxxploding with frenetic frenzy.
who knew?
needless to say, after a straight eight of nightmarish nighty-night,
i will NOT be sipping on any light roast later.
no point in tempting the TNT with sparks on sparks.
and besides, without sleep, or with it,
nothing is different,
nothing is resolved,
but everything IS better with cake,
so we'll see where the day leads;
never quiet, never soft.....

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