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.