I don’t think I’ve ever been as busy as I am now. And Lord knows, I’ve led a busy life. But if something doesn’t give soon, I’m going to collapse in a quivering heap of twitchy woman.
I’d list it all, but it’s too depressing. But no matter what it is I’m doing at any given time, somebody wants me doing something else. If everything is urgent, then nothing is. Ya know?
I’m too tired to lean over and drink the glass of wine I poured 3 hours ago. Ain’t that sad?
It was recently suggested that I needed a hobby to help reduce stress in my life. So, I’ve taken up “artisan bread” baking. (Doesn’t that just sound pretentious?) I was having fun (and gaining weight) with the breadmaking, but I’ve been too busy to do any baking for more than a week. There’s something very satisfying about kneading bread when you start out preferring primal scream therapy.
But a friend sent me a 14-year-old South African sourdough starter (and a bodacious copper tea kettle!) and I’ve been busy (ahem) cultivating starter for my first attempt at sourdough bread.
This bread thing is addictive. First of all, I’ve always had a thing for for kitchen toys and I’ve now acquired a baking stone, a lame` thingie, dough scraper/cutter thingie, thermometer, bowls, breadboard,bowl scraper etc. etc. (This “artisan” thing requires accoutrements.)
I’ve also always had a thing for cookbooks. Boy howdy, y’all probably don’t know how many bread books there are out there. It’s probably a good thing Borders closed.
So. There you have it. Me. Whining again.
(I think I’ll be drinking that wine now.)