The Sugar Nerd Commences

Since becoming unemployed in October, I have been doing much thinking on what I want to be doing with my life.  I sit at my command station day after day, applying for jobs that never materialize and, without fail, my mind seems to turn to baking.  I get derailed from my epic job search by visions of lemon cookies; the thought of their warm, citrusy scent comforts me far better than the cold shoulder I am getting from my computer...or of raspberry buttermilk cakes that, for even an hour, would give me a sense of purpose.  I invariably jump up and check the pantry for ingredients and start mixing.  When my husband Aaron gets home, he immediately knows something delicious is afoot and he seems to forget that he just worked a 13 hour day. It is interesting to me that I am not baking because I want to eat these marvelous odes to sugar and butter, I am baking because the process of it calms me.  It completely takes me away from the discomfort of my life right now.  It unlocks nostalgic feelings of pure childlike joy.  I float on mounds whipped egg whites and dance to the music of measuring cups clanging.  I am riding a wave of sugar rapture where my only concern is making sure I don't over bake the cream cheese brownies.  Job schmob.  A little more icing, please.  Eventually I realized that I seem to be baking more than job hunting.  This could be problematic.

Some of the jobs I have applied for ask if you have a blog or website.  I am surprised by this.  I only joined Facebook this year and I think I was the last of all my friends to get a cell phone.  It's not that I eschew technology, I would just rather not be that available sometimes.  But now employers want to gauge your potential by means other than your business related accomplishments.  I felt old and tired.  I also felt I should have a blog.  Since baking seemed to be fluttering its flour-covered jazz hands in my face, Sugar Nerd was born.

I've been making cookies, pies, cakes, loafs...all with reckless abandon and a true sense of fulfillment.  I put on my vintage apron and revel in the noisy twang of beaters whirring and eggs cracking.  My pug, Owen, lays happily in his bed, also content in the flurry of kitchen activity.

I'm still job hunting, but also embracing this nearly uncontrollable urge to bake.  And bake.  And bake.