Isn't that a beautiful loaf of bread? It's curvy, and the braiding was just so, and it rose well and browned evenly, and just looks so good. But, like the vibrant trumpets of morning glory, or the innocuous daffodil-like narcissus, a couple bites could probably maim a horse. I know I'm scarred for life. This is easily the most disgusting loaf of bread I have made yet.
Okay, people. I need a bread recipe that DOESN'T fuck up at the slightest touch of my fingers. I need something that does NOT use whole wheat flour (because you can't buy decent whole wheat flour around here; it's just impossible) and doesn't taste like paste, and doesn't come out always being a little less than what I know bread can be. I miss my mom's bread, so nutty and rich and pretty and crumbly. I miss the soft, earthy smell of whole wheat flour back home, where some genius actually knows how to grind whole wheat flour until there aren't any bits left in it, and it's just as fine and beautiful as white flour. It gives it this dark color, and a very full taste. Why, for the love of the gods, WHY can't they do that here?! Gods. Maybe the thing that makes me grumpiest is that I haven't had a really decent piece of homemade toast since Christmas, which is just flat too long to go without that, especially when one routinely makes bread. It's enough to make me want to explode or something. -sigh-
On the bright side, that bike Chelsea and I fixed up last night works like a charm. Riding a bike is about as close to flying as you can get without anyone really questioning what you're doing, though someday I'd like to make them wonder. I didn't go far, just around my neighborhood, but I couldn't stop smiling, and I can already feel my legs being less wibbly and pathetic. I've finally gotten moving again, and it feels incredible.
However, the next weekend and week are going to be just as busy as last weekend, if not more so. Tonight, Ian and I will finally (after three weeks of postponement) be dining with his lovely aunt and her two kids (who are 13 and 19). Tomorrow morning, I may be going to the banding station with Ian, which entails getting up at 5 in the morning and hauling our sorry asses out to a farm about two hours' drive off, and then getting back seven or eight hours later after much bird-related excitement. Then I'm baking a cake (with luck, I'll have a chance) and going to a Dungeons and Dragons session with some of the nerds in the Linguistics department, including my phonetics professor and TA. Sunday is Ian's birthday, and I still haven't found or made him anything and I feel guilty, so I must squeeze that in sometime in the next day or so. Monday and Tuesday will be eaten up for studying for my Wednesday and Thursday exams, and then Thursday afternoon, I paint, and Thursday evening, I pack. Friday we move. And somewhere in there, we have to clean up the new house and pack up a kitchen and and try not to die. Oh my dear sweet gods. So I don't think I'll get to breathe for another week. And then Ian will be gone from the 20th until the 2nd of May, and so naturally I'm going to miss him more than Lincoln misses his top hats.
Oh, and did I mention that my cat is trying to die? My cat is trying to die. He hasn't eaten more than could be shoved down his throat in a few weeks, and just...is giving up. So naturally I'm pretty damned upset about that, and I'm thinking of spontaneously flying back to Boston to see my mum and my cat. I miss them. A lot. So I may be doing that after my finals.
And that's my life. If I collapse and/or implode sometime in the next couple weeks, you'll know why.
Kate
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