December 16th, 23:00 | Tell me how hard, how fast, baby, tell me how high I must go

She's up-front, up-shot, upstart, up in every case
The kind of girl that whispers... thank God for you

Oh yeah, and all you got is me
Oh yeah, and all you need is me

Her confusion is in the night that I stumbled
It's in the morning that I, that I struggled
Because I start to forget but she will always remember
The kind of girl who laughs and says get up off your knees

(...)

Oh yeah, and all you'll need is me
Oh yeah, and all you'll want is me
Oh yeah, well all you'll get is me...

All you got -- Tegan and Sara





Love this song. Feels like all the happy flying bits of being in love without any of the fear or angstiness... just need the boy now ;) Except that I'm oddly at peace with my singletude. Mehn. We'll wait for the sexual frustration to kick in. (Who am I kidding? The lack of someone to cuddle with would (will?) drive me to finding someone long before that ever would.)





I love baking. If it meant making it The Old Way, and not all mechanized and boring, I would want to be a baker. Not a fancy shmancy baker for some hotel, making little chou puffs for lawyers to snack on while sipping wines, but I mean a real baker. Making bread. Absolutely dead simple, plain, yumminess bread. My hair would smell like yeast (yeah, I know, sexy eh?) and my hands would be perma-covered in flour. And I would love it.

(Well, in actuality, I don't think my hands would be strong enough. I've got pretty wimpy delicate girl hands. Despite the mad typing prowess.)

Nonetheless that's the fantasy. I mean while some of us like polishing silver, some of us prefer kneading dough. (The main advantages of the bread being that it smells better, isn't toxic and produces something (hopefully) edible at the end.) Really though, it's therapeutic. In the same way giving someone a massage sometimes isn't de-stressing at all, kneading bread is. You can just keep going until the dough smooths out to the way you want it. You can do anything you want with it. And for all you pound it and beat it and fold and start over, unless you're nurturing at least in the crucial moments while its rising, it'll turn out into a sullen chunky lump o' brick. It has a personality, and it must be respected. But so long as you're willing to mother it during its rising, you can take out infinite amounts of angst on it.

God I love bread. And, errr, I'm going to bed now.




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