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In which I get all zen on your hide

It was a long day. I worked all day, then came home, ate the meal M kindly inserted between my face and the laptop, and kept working.

I finished at around 9:30pm: I was stonkered and blinkered and could only think about work. Deciding the day was written off, I figured the best thing I could do was to surrender, pack tomorrow’s lunch and go to bed. When I got to the fridge, there was nothing to pack. Nothing but the raw dough and filling I had prepared the previous night. bethini-in-the-past had made promises that bethini-in-the-present now had to fulfil for bethini-in-the-future. bethini-in-the-present may have bitched a little.

Tired and stupid, I started rolling out shortcrust pastry, grumping a little. And then I broke the pastry a bit and thought “whoops, better fix that up”. And then I thought “I bet I can get it thinner!” and suddenly I had a flawless pie crust in the oven. I took my cooked-yesterday fillings and whisked the eggs, milk and cheese in — I may have even whistled a merry toot, such was the sudden elevation of my mood! — and poured it into the timely baked crust.

Lo, a quiche to furnish bethini-in-the-present with lunch. In the space of maybe half an hour, I was awake, refreshed and happy after working.

I’m sure it’s just the change in task that effects this lift: switching from one particular brain-work to another (arguably lighter) one wakes me up. But I’m open to believing it’s also just food. I love food, I love making and preparing food, and I love promising food to myself: it was like a big food love-in, and it was just what I needed after working a long day.

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