I like to bake when I’m trying to think. I made sweetheart cupcakes; it was kind of appropriate to what I was thinking about.
I contemplated my choices as I poured the cupcake mix into the polka dot paper cups. I spend so much time daydreaming it’s difficult to assess what’s real any more. I spend so much time analysing it’s impressive I get anything done at all. The easiest choice, as it always is, is to just do nothing. It’s safe, and familiar, and I am happy.
But what if there is more? More passion, more happiness, more love? But what if it’s just a fantasy? A stupid, wild dream that has no basis in reality and that will fade ‘like a dream upon waking’ if I actually made it happen?
So afraid of being alone, because of my own self-sabotage. This is a choice I’ve made before. Maybe I should just accept what I decided then and trust it was the right thing to do. Somehow though, I can’t get the “what if” out of my head. I can’t ignore the butterflies in my stomach, my racing heart. Is it excitement? Or fear?
The epiphany came as I made the frosting. Pour sugar. It’s not really about them, it’s about me. Add butter. It’s about who I should be versus who I am. Stir. The question is, can I get out of the “should be” mould? Refrigerate. Do I want to? Ice cupcakes.
Would I like myself better? Taste.
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