I can’t sleep, so I bake. I don’t mean regularly like a crutch against insomnia, but just at times when it’s impossible to fall back asleep, when the sun peeks above the horizon, and I feel like doing something instead of rolling around in the covers, restless.
I tally up ingredients from my stock before I reach the stairs. I gain inspiration for my breakfast creation as I flick on the kitchen light, a fire started.
A glance at my scrapbooked recipe binder or a magnified browse of my iPad guides me. Apron on, hair tied back, hands washed. I’m set. I arrange ingredients and accessories in front of me to avoid half-made goodies that need to be tossed when I realize I’m out of this or that. I mix, assemble, and divide until what I create waits to meet the preheated oven. And, in the oven it goes.
Batter rises and browns into blueberry muffins, smelling sweet, ready to eat when I’m not able to sleep.