On ‘Baking’

It is officially 8 minutes from Saturday morning, at the time I’m beginning this entry. For the past week, I’ve had to wake up at 7:00 each day to go to a class that I’m only barely able to keep abreast in. Two weeks, five assignments, and one very large group project to go.  I feel a little discouraged, because I really don’t want to do all the work involved.

But for now, that is all you’ll see on that subject. I feel I have no right to complain about anything–after all what am I complaining about? That I must wake up at 7:00, when others don’t even get to sleep in a bed? That I have to work hard in college–a privilege that anyone less fortunate woud be happy to claw my eyes out for?

Please, if I ever complain too much, don’t listen. It is only because I have moments of powerful selfishness. I am blessed–more than I could ever know–and in the presence of all I have, to have ingratitude within me would be disgusting.

I baked some cookies today. I didn’t tell anyone about it, because they would get jealous and want some, but after posting this they will probably be all gone, and I will have an–almost–guilt free conscience. They were sugar cookies, and I enjoyed every minute of making them. Cooking is something that, like writing, I seldom want to start, but once I begin I enjoy it very much, and find it hard to stop. I haven’t made anything besides eggs in a while so any treats at all, especially cookies, are a delight to make. I even got to take the first (and only) batch out of the oven with big padded oven mitts.

I should note that cookies hold a special place in my heart–I didn’t get them very often growing up. It seemed to me that every other parent in the world made cookies for their children every day, but not my parents. My parents are Texan born, as one might be able to see from my poetry, and the Texan folk aren’t famous for cookies, but instead for delicious meats and astounding breakfasts. So, while I was never short of brisket and biscuits growing up, cookies were more of a commodity. I lived off of Fudge Rounds and Oatmeal Cream Pies for the majority of my childhood, so anything homemade was a commodity.

Thus, whenever I really like to ‘bake,’ I make cookies. The ‘bake’ is supposed to have apostrophes, because I don’t technically bake the cookies. In the king household, putting cookies in the oven is just a waste of good dough and heat. So I have a lump of sugar cookie dough that weighs about two pounds in the fridge. Suddenly, the coming two weeks aren’t looking so terribly bad.

Going to work on a bit of fiction tomorrow. Perhaps another journal entry.

Good night everyone. I would give you all cookies if I could, but I can’t fit them through the internet connection, and even if I could, that would mean less for me.

~DK

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3 Comments

  1. Cassie said,

    May 19, 2007 at 3:48 pm

    DK, you’re really awesome, and I miss you. :)

  2. Brian said,

    May 29, 2007 at 3:00 pm

    All your cookie dough are belong to me! Way to go, brother.
    -Brian

  3. Beth said,

    June 5, 2007 at 2:20 am

    DK. I miss you.


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