Another failure in the kitchen. Another failure at life.
Smoke filled our small unit, boom ran for cover, and A’s throat is irritated by more than that pesky seasonal tickle. Who knows what damage I did to the freshly painted walls. Who knows what carcinogens I breathed and passed to the little bean. An intention to make something sweet just for A, to thank him for how supportive and kind he’s been the past few weeks, turned into more of a mess, more of a stress, and some terribly dry muffins.
It feels like everything I attempt with good intentions turns to rot before my eyes. Perhaps I should start keeping a “good job” list when I actually succeed at something. Because on days like this, it feels like I should just stop trying.
Anyway, I have a lot to look forward to in the next few weeks. Now it’s just a matter of getting my attitude together. No one likes a failure. And no one likes a failure who acts like a failure.
Some bright side: I finished my work before midnight today. I got the chance to do something nice for A. I walked boom in the cold sunshine sans distractions. I unexpectedly gained six hours of pre-comitted life.