It’s the kind of day – grey, heavy, thick, cold – that would mean an impending snowstorm anywhere else in the world. Here it just means…it’s grey, heavy, thick and cold. Well, cold-for-Texas. Which is not the same as cold anywhere else in the world. Not even close.
I designated today as Baking Day. (It is also wrapping day.) I’m baking stuff for US, and stuff to take with me to my mother’s on Tuesday, and stuff for other people. The wrapping is all for other people, obviously.
On the docket are cinnamon bread and chocolate ginger bread with candy cane frosting.
And then I’m making meatballs, as well.
I feel like my house has turned into Santa’s Bakeshop, and yet, oddly, I don’t feel like it’s Christmas at all. Which is weird. And kind of odd, because usually I’m all about the holidays.
This year, though, I find I resent the intrusion of holiday into writing life. I feel like I have all this pressure to Get Things Done, and I haven’t Done Enough.
I can sleep on the plane, right?