I don't know what to say. I am not used to this oven? I over-beat the eggs?When I have a bad day this activity is supposed to cheer me up. Woe is me. I am not a baker.
I am a nothing. A piece of lint in a belly button. A jam in the toe. A rotten zucchini floating in liquid ooze in your crisper.
I will listen to The Cure and read Sylvia Plath's collected poems this evening.
Oh Shiraz! You're my only friend.
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