Pizza stone

This pizza stone that I carried home today felt like a monkey on my back. Like when will I learn that you can't ride your bike, carry your stuff home from school, and balance a Sur la Table shopping bag on your handlebars.

Or that baking bread, in theory, sounds like a great idea- until you have to figure out how to get the oven to 550 degrees and have a five-hour free block of time on a Monday to figure out how to actually bake it.

I don't know what to do next year and I couldn't fall asleep last night with my head swimming in details of what could be. I feel more at peace today than I have in a while, having to do with being by myself on Saturday and taking the day for my own creative adventures. And, watching two French movies after being inspired by going out for drinks with colleagues on Friday- feeling like I can do this, speak French, act French, work at a French school.

Walking up Fulton with the pizza stone made me realize that I love that I could walk home, even after I had gotten myself into all of this trouble, and that the bread would eventually bake and probably turn out okay. It might not look great, but it will still taste amazing.