There’s nothing more therapeutic than kneading the hell out of some dough and ending up with something delicious. It’s catharsis at its finest. It’s slow. No matter how fast paced the world is, bread takes time. And yet, the idea of waiting for anything else annoys me. I can’t be bothered. But for bread, I’ll wait patiently.
It’s not often in life that we’re rewarded for our anger. Today, anger tastes like warm, homemade bread, lightly sprinkled with sea salt.
I’ve switched my days and nights. I know Monday I’ll have to switch back again and it’s going to be hell. I’ll promise myself that I won’t do it again but the night is so much more appealing. Good things happen at 3:30 a.m. Like my bread. Yum.