Subterfuge

Deadlines are looming, deadly things:

True to form, I'm a mere 4 days from a travel essay contest, 5 days from a residency application, and a week and a half from the ugly GRE and guess what I am doing? Baking. I'm baking like my life depends on it, because every time I pick up a flash card (a flash card... that I made. Because I couldn't remember what a prime number is) I am filled with such dread, such angst, such discouragement, that I resort to an old trick my step-dad used to use to help ease the tension from childhood migraines:

"What color is the pain?"

"White."

"If it could fill a glass, how full would it be?"

"Overflowing."

"Would you say that it is hard or soft?"

"Soft. And dense.. and maybe creamy."

"What color is it now?"

"Still white. Like powdered sugar."

"How much would it fill in a bowl?"

"Ooh, just about halfway.. but it needs butter."

I don't know how or why my anxiety manifested into a dessert-vision, but I'm not one to ignore a good auspice. And so I began to bake. Under the delusion that it would be, ultimately, the catalyst I need to a calmer, saner, more productive state of mind. I made a cinnamon/chocolate/banana bread. A pear/raspberry/cranberry cake. Moroccan chicken with raisins and lentils. Dutch peppermint cocoa with homemade whipped cream.

I have created a recipe bookmark on my computer and am obsessed with David Lebovitz and this recipe for homemade marshmallows (WHY don't I have a standing mixer???). I'm dying to have a try at French macarons, though everything I've read indicates you need to give yourself supplies and time for at least half a dozen failed batches before success. Tomorrow, I'm making 4 different kinds of shortbread for the orphan's Thanksgiving we're attending at my dear friend Eric's house.

Have I written anything? NO. Not in almost two entire weeks. Have I even been reading? Nope. With the exception of recipes and baking blogs, I have been a pseudo-illiterate for almost a fortnight. How am I feeling about the GRE, the contests, the residency, and (sigh) the eventual applications I need to pull together for grad program deadlines? Um, I don't have time to answer. I'm a nebulous elf made entirely of cinnamon and cream.

Deadlines are magical, motivational rainbows:

I've learned how to bake! My secret ingredient is sour cream, and I'll throw cinnamon on anything (including chicken). I've been remarkably productive in thousands of other, non-academic ways that include:

• Yoga-- I'm finally learning some of those incredibly scary twisty moves that put a lot of pressure on your elbows and involve Lamaze-esque breathing.
• I made a Christmas card list and began designs for my first ever holiday card.
• I drew a fairly convincing aardvark.
• I drew a terrible fig.
• I braved the 3 week pile of laundry.
• I signed up for Netflix. Finally.
• I set up my Christmas tree.
• I began my Amazon wishlist.
• I updated and revised and constantly admire my iCalendar.
• I've painted my nails.
• Trimmed my bangs.
• Written a blog update..

There's something about looming deadlines that make me remarkably productive in areas of my life that aren't nearly as dire. But nonetheless, I am grateful to have at least discovered a penchant for baking, abilities to organize, and the willingness to undertake such challenges as the drawing of the complicated innards of a freshly cut fig. That's not so easy, you know.