All I want out of life is a plate of chocolate chip peanut butter cookies.
I don’t even *like* chocolate chip peanut butter cookies. I find them a perpetual disappointment. But I desperately want some.
This isn’t getting any easier. It’s not actually that it’s hard, it’s that it makes me grumpy, at least in part because I find baking soothing and these troubled times we’re living in require some real fucking soothment. But I’ve met me, and if I bake cookies, there’s no way I’ll stop eating at two. So, fuck.
I’ve lost another couple pounds, which, rather than being an inspiration, is more of a “WELL SEE THIS ISN’T THAT GODDAMN HARD I COULD JUST HAVE SOME GODDAMN COOKIES IT’D BE FINE” and it makes me cranky to know that isn’t true.
(Sorry, I’m in a terrible mood. The government’s a time bomb and I hate the world right now and I want some goddamn cookies.)