Let me back up a little.
I bake to express myself. When I am happy, I make yummy food. When I am angry, I feel the need to knead bread. When I am sad, or bouncy, or morbid or joyful I bake. That is just what I do. Yet, in the last two months I haven't made hardly anything.
It is not uncommon for me to make 4 or 5 things a week. Bread, cookies, pie, biscuits, brownies, muffins. All from scratch.
Since Andy has been gone, I am pretty sure I have only made three things, total.
Coming to that realization sort of freaked me out.
I have been working so hard at NOT being sad, focusing all of my energy on not allowing myself to cry that I have forgotten to allow myself a little room.
I'm not saying I haven't laughed, or felt joy at all during these last two months. Or that I haven't felt anger at all. Just that I have kept everything so contained, so tampered down that everything else in my life suffered.
Yesterday I decided it was time to start baking again.
Today I made cookies, and pie.
I also got fired up angry at the Best Buy credit card service department.
And I have a humongeous headache.
But the food is good. And feeling strongly is worth the headache.
It's good to be back.