more practice

Baking is cathartic. My cupcakes are still crude and unpolished. But I'm practicing my frosting and piping. I'll get there.

love month

More like a huge Cough month.

I've never struggled as I struggle now with this relentless cough causing never before felt epigastric pain, waking me up in the middle of the night. I reckon it's the result of stress from the increased workload. It's just too much hard labour.

I blame the chill as well. I haven't ventured out in more than a month which bodes well for my unforgiving introverted self. Hell sometimes, is other people (and it feels right to quote Jean Paul Sartre). They judge. They judge. They judge. They compare, they compare some more and they never stop comparing.

Anyway, my tulips are such a fascination, we're still on love month.

despond

If only, the word contentment is easy to stew. But then there's little girl, so gorgeous, so cute, in an age where she's still exquisite, an emblem of hope. She makes a lot of mess. But she's two, you can still extend your patience a little if she makes a mess and she makes a lot of mess. The downside is I hate mess and it takes work to follow through her antics.

The comment.

Now somebody just pointed out to me that if you're not raising a brood (loads of kids) of your own (not nieces or nephews), you're an automatic failure. What the heck? I thought I've written about this subject time and time again. As I've observed through the years, the most wonderful persons (she just means women, i mean all the genders) in the world are those who do not crash and burn mulling over outgrown baby clothes, laundry, child care and addictive aspects of bachelorhood that would never be given up. Life in solitude is actually much more relaxing than being part of a duo. Although it's very nice when there's somebody who cooks for you. Such sweetness. Having to clean up afterwards in all its essence is not too bad. However the stubborn stains torture and maim especially when you're about to collapse from exhaustion, so by delaying the stocks of dishes, you're left with work and more work. Whilst in solitude, you don't wallow in servitude. You're free to write, free to read, free to travel.

In old age, it's not certain that the kid/kids would even talk to you, much more look after you. They'll tread their own path, make their way into the world. You, the parent could just be the afterthought.