Leftovers.

Things I'm procrastinating at the moment: reading five new scripts delivered to my inbox this morning. Reading Virgil's Eclogues. Reading Plato's Phaedo. Things I'm incidentally not procrastinating right at this particular moment: Writing my Blog. But this is just a coincidence. I was spending the morning browsing the foodblogosphere, waiting for it to be a morally appropriate time to have lunch already. And I had some future post or two or three running around in my head, and I thought, woe is meeee, when will I be able to actually write this post, why must I produce abnormally long posts that give only the absolute big, whole and detailed picture, and why oh why did I get myself into blog-debt in which I owe an explanation for why I did not post, so much so that now I procrastinate writing about why I was procrastinating….? Woe, Dear Readers. Woe are you too. How do you put up with me.

Anyway, I'm what you might called bored. Which is understandable seeing that I have no life, in the usual, casually-unaware-to-the-nearness-of-death kind of way the term is usually used. That is, I have no job and I am currently not really a student. I have no real academic commitment except the general wish to advance my skills in the scholarship of Greek and Roman antiquity before grad school hits. hard. And I have been reading some Plato and some Virgil, which is generally not utterly unenjoyable, and I am even taking vocabulary notes (gasp!). Yet, there are a random two to three days a week where I can just wake up in the morning and start reading some ancient text for my own "good", still less days in which I can bring myself to drag my ass to the library, where there is a slight chance of being more productive. Especially if I do not bring the Evil Machine That Miraculously Conjures Images of Facebook and Cooking Blogs with me (which I don't. Why go to the library if I'm not going to work? I would rather stay at home where the bathroom is certainly cleaner and the fridge is closer, and tea doesn't come in a paper cup or a burn-your-lips metal tumbler. Jeezuz). The rest of the week, days in which my ass is not dragged to any such place, is more hazardous. Now, as you may guess from the aforementioned bathroom comment, I'm a I'd-rather-stay-at-home (and neurotic! We must never forget NEUROTIC.) kind of girl. But still, there is nothing more depressing than having no reason to get out of the house. ALL DAY. Not to mention speak to a human soul other than DH, dear as he most certainly is. That's right, I don't really have that much friends either. Which is understandable seeing that etc.
And in my woes, I bake (sometimes, occasionally, I cook too. Must give myself a pat on the back for the exceptionally successful last few dinners: Chicken drumsticks baked in Roasted Red Pepper sauce, Turkey-Cilantro meatballs, and Swordfish coconut milk Curry. I am getting GOOD at this, people. DH is not even complaining).
Sorry, I'll get back to my usual grumpy and dissatisfied self now. Nothing like the subject of BAKED GOODS to make me not give myself any slack. First Reason: Butter (if you've been reading this blog for a while you have probably gathered already that Butter is used metonymically for ANYTHING CHOLESTEROLICALLY VEIN-CLOGGING). I bake, and then I feel guilty about eating what I baked. Now DH is not much of a consolation here, seeing as a) he spends less time at home and in the proximity of baked goods than I. b) he does not have much of a sweet tooth. Nothing comparable to me, that is. I eat meals for the sake of dessert. I crave a sweet bite the minute I finish eating whatever it is that I'm eating. Every single meal. Even if it's a random 3 pm snack. I could grab a pretzel, then feel like some cake to finish it off (then another pretzel, of course, to take out the sweetness). Now you must understand. I would be characterized as anything but thin by no-one. DH is even naturally thinner than I am (the man has no fat on his body). And yet when I get all neurotic about not consuming so much, DH plays along - I think he thinks he's offering me moral support here, like, if he reminds me that I don't feel great about eating so much CAKE, I'll appreciate it and feel better about myself. Or, if he agrees that we should lay off the butter a bit it would make it easier for me. First of all, nothing will make it easier for me. I AM INSANE and life is shit. Second, really, man, just ignore me. I'm psycho. No need to take this rationally. Third: I know you say you'll love me even more when I'm fat, wrinkled, and with gray hair (check on all three, darling. Future husbands out there: Don't marry a girl with freckles. You might find it cute now but it's the same kind of skin that goes wrinkly before she's 30.) SO NOW PROVE IT: just let me INDULGE and get fat. I know, I know, none of this is making sense (Accept your body. You're beautiful from the inside. And the outside. No More Tyranny of the Size-0 Beauty Industry! Feel good about yourself, don't seek confirmation from significant or non-significant others! I KNOW ALL THAT).
But seriously, there is currently in the fridge a bit of leftover more-than-a-week-old Orange Coffee Cake that I shall slowly but surely finish up myself (still delicious), a 5-day-old bowl of something like maple creme brulee (leftover from this pie), 3/4 of a still fresh buttery-lemon toffee-like tart (just 1.5 days old!), and the only reason there is no more Tarte Tatin in there (for heaven's sake. I made this for his birthday and after polishing off almost half on the first night with the aid of our favorite Venezuelan friend, we both got cold feet because of all the butter in it and ate it sparingly, even though heating it up in the oven brought it back to near-perfection), is because I scraped off the buttery apples with a spoon one day and threw out the crust remainder - it was not so tempting after more than two weeks in the fridge. PEOPLE, a home baked Tarte Tatin lasted two weeks in our household. THAT IS JUST WRONG, no matter how conscious one is to economic inequality.
The Second Reason has to do with the fact that I hardly have friends to invite over for cake. Or an office to bring cake to.
Combined with Reason #1, this means I am doomed to eat cake by myself most of the time, and obsess about it. Yup, that pretty much sums up the raison d'etre of this blog.

(I shall stop here. Mid-thought! If you count as thought "every baking related association I have had in the last two weeks which leads to the conclusion that being lonely AND experiencing baking fiascoes is worse than just one or the other, so that's why I was not blogging for a while there, and now I owe you, like, at least, 5 posts of a semi-friendly length!" In that case, YEAH.)