Sometimes there just really isn’t a ton to say. My brain and body are both feeling stretched pretty thin this week. Between working and teaching and blogging and trying to finish the book, I barely have the brain-power to fully comprehend an episode of The Bachelor these days. No, really. On Monday night I tried to take a break and watch it and I found myself asking an irritating number of questions, unable to turn my brain off for even a second and just bask in the glow of Juan Pablo. On Tuesday night I woke up at three in the morning inexplicably desperate to know the history of instant pudding. I actually dragged myself out of bed to go sit at my computer and read about patents for the MY*T*FINE company. On Wednesday I was on my feet for so long that by the time I got home they looked like tiny footballs and I fell asleep soaking them in the tub with chips and salsa on my lap (a very confusing situation to wake up in).
The light at the end of this exhausting and embarrassing tunnel is that someday there will be a book–a real book full of real-book-smells–with my name on it, sitting on actual bookstore bookshelves. Until that happens though, there are pancakes and good books for comfort, and the knowledge that with all of the terrifying stress and pressure of adulthood also comes the privilege of eating whatever we want, which means we don’t even have to exert the mental energy to choose between blueberries and chocolate chips.
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