I swore after finishing my cookbook that there would be no more desserts for at least a month, maybe two. I was tired of cooking on such an unforgiving schedule, and frankly I was getting sick of dessert. I know you hate me a little for saying that, but it's true. Sometimes a girl needs some fiber in her diet is all I'm saying.
But, let's see, in the two weeks since my deadline passed, I've made a cake, a lemon tart, a big batch of pumpkin butter, and not one, but two, apple pies. There may or may not be another one in the oven right now! What happened to taking some time off? Maybe do a cleanse, or reacquaint myself with some fitness equipment? Eff that: Momma needs some sugar. And by sugar I mean actual sugar. Keep your sloppy kisses and genitalia away from me!
Part of it is habit. I'm simply used to eating cake at 10 a.m. That's the new normal. Without that sugar infusion (and the subsequent ones at 2 and 8 p.m.), there's no telling whom you might encounter should you happen to knock on my door bearing campaign materials. Weepy Tammy? Bewildered Tammy? Murderous-Towards-Trespassers Tammy? (One valuable piece of information I learned is that when you answer the door, before the solicitor in question even starts to speak, immediately curl up your face and hiss like a rabid raccoon, never breaking eye contact, drawing out the sound into a low growl, and your interaction is over before it even starts.)
Another possible factor in my continued dessert rampages is that I'm used to being very busy. Previously, I was rigidly bound to a schedule I secretly feared was beyond my capabilities. I was almost too busy to eat the confections I baked. (Almost.) Now there's a hole in my day that can only be filled with doughnut holes. And wouldn't you know it, I have just the recipe! How convenient! Maybe I should test it again just in case? Yeah, I'm pretty sure there could be some improvements. The next thing you know, the sink is full of dirty dishes and I'm collapsed on the couch like a pregnant lady with a cinnamon-sugar mustache. Trust me, nobody wants to see that.
I have thus far managed to stave off obesity, don't ask me how, but I'm still a good 10 to 15 pounds heavier than normal. And though I had a good gym routine going for a while there, now I'm all, yeah, whatever. Who cares? The damage is done. Twice now the new fitness guy had to wake me up because I was drooling all over the electrical components of my cardio machine.
So I have some tough love ahead of me if I hope to rebuild my physical and mental strength and stamina. By the time the book comes out next fall (2013), I should be back to normal, whatever normal is for me. Meanwhile, I still have all of these goddamned pumpkins, and they really, really want to be in a pie!