It's a weird kind of day, today. I'm feeling slightly out of sorts, probably due to the fact that I didn't sleep well last night.
I got angry yesterday at work. It was the kind of angry that I can't do anything about, save for knocking my head repeatedly against a wall or desk or perhaps the skull of whoever is unfortunate enough to be standing in front of me. Instead of doing that, I went home and baked.
Yeah, I know. It's weird. But when I get angry - no, scratch that. When I get furiously, blazing mad, I get domestic. I clean. I don't tidy. I CLEAN. I tackle a large appliance or something. The last time I was this screechy and out of control, I manually cleaned my self-cleaning oven. When I was a teenager, my family delighted in pissing me off just as dinner was over, so that in anger, I would start clearing the table and cleaning the kitchen. I've managed to wash paint off walls when I'm really incensed. I'll never forget this one time in England... I called home, and found out that this boy I foolishly fancied had started dating this absolute skank! Gawd! She was some piece of work, let me tell you... but that's a whole 'nother story. The point is that that particular tidbit of gossip got me so angry, I tackled the crusty, blackened, hadn't-been-cleaned-in-months-despite-being-cooked-on-by-an-average-20-people-a-day stovetop in the kitchen of the hole-in-the-wall hostel I was staying in at the time. I did it with a sponge and some water. No soap. No abrasive cleaning products. My nails, some water and a sponge. After 45 minutes of anger-release, that damn thing turned white again.
So, anyway, last night, I deviated a bit, and decided to pour my anger into some chocolate chip walnut cookies. They came out fabulously, darlings. Martha Stewart would bend over and kiss my diminishing arse for these cookies. Don't listen to anyone who'll tell you that you should only bake with love. Any kind of passion will do. Love, anger, lust, hate... any of those will step in for a teaspoon of baking powder in a pinch. Take it from me.
After exhausting myself in the kitchen, I puttered around the house, picking things up and putting things down, until finally, I went to bed around 11. At midnight, I was still reading. At 12:30, I called Arizona, because it's a couple of hours behind me, and chatted with Bubbles for an hour. At three, I was in my garage, indulging in a fag.
I think I closed my eyes sometime around quarter to four, and slept fitfully until about 7:30. I had strange dreams about golfing, papayas and the boy in the meeting yesterday.
So today, I'm out of sorts. But I'm having a martini with some Piranhas after work, which should take the edge off, no?
The fact that I'm going to spend an astronomical amount of time and money in a salon tomorrow afternoon is also a brightening factor in my horizon. I'm going in a mess, but baby, I'm comin' out a star! (Fifty pounds ago, I would have come out a planet.) I've decided to go drastically different tomorrow... something funky and brave and adorable, making me irresistible to everyone who happens upon me.
Hmm. Like that ain't already the case...
Love you, my darlings.
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