Gah, this NaBloPoMo thing was a disaster. I managed to do about 1/3 of the 30 posts, or thereabouts. I don’t want to go count, or I’ll be even more annoyed at myself over the whole thing. What was I thinking?
I often wonder “what was I thinking?!” with respect to things I’ve committed to. I wonder it a lot. Today, I wondered what I was thinking when I scheduled my holiday cookie party for December 6. That is this freaking Saturday, people. 6 days. We’ve barely recovered from Thanksgiving, and now I’ve got to throw a party together. (And I’m committed, since the invites went out and some people have actually already RSVPed. Can you believe it?!) Now, this wouldn’t be a big deal for normal folks, folks who (a) didn’t operate their housecleaning calendar on the Panic Attack Because People Are Coming system, (b) plan, even slightly, for things like this with a proper amount of lead time to get everything done, and (c) weren’t overachieving superambitious frazzlezoids, like moiself: me, who makes everything from scratch and goes into waaaay too much detail and gets really carried away and is too stupid and / or stubborn (depending) to get any help with it all.
My procrastination skills have reached new heights with the addition of the new French press coffee maker, so I’m sure that this weekend will be charming. But things are good, generally speaking. Actually, I’m ahead of the game, having made a potential menu and shopping list and picked out a cookie recipe. All with six days yet to go, mind you. So there is hope. It is possible that I might not be a mindless, dribbling blob or a short-circuited, hypercaffeinated, overly-tensioned spring come Saturday morning. Then again, I might be both. We shall see.
As for the cookies, I’m making pizzelles – assuming, of course, that my mother remembers to email me her recipe. Otherwise, it’s probably Rice Crispies Treats, or possibly some sort of improvised granola-cluster affair. Were I smart*, I would try out a few cookie recipes tonight, instead of farting around on the internet until odd hours and then sleeping late tomorrow.
Six days. Six days! What was I thinking??
Oh, right… cookies!
*We are in no danger of this being the case.