In Which I Cannot Seem To Stop

Having finished cleaning the kitchen after yesterday's excesses, it is clearly time to make another mess. I have a loaf of maple pecan bread rising--which, though it's whole wheat flour in a 3:1 ratio over white, actually seemed to Do The Right Thing unlike my last attempt, though it remains a stone bitch to knead--and will be making Poule au Pot (or "Pol Pot", as my whimsical pooky would have it) for dinner. I'm also toying with the idea of making up the mince pies I didn't manage to make over the holidays, but that's a lot of work and I should probably do something more relevant, like cleaning up the basement and shifting pantry goods around. Especially as we still have ten Imperial assloads of candy left over. And I'd also like to plunge further into the new cookbook, since I have a fridge currently bursting with pancetta, tomatoes, eggplant, and things of that ilk.

What I probably need most of all is a nice tall glass of Settle Down, Beavis.

Though I really enjoy cooking and baking, I'm starting to realize that, unlike most of my amusements, it's a fair bit tiring (der!), and therefore when I spend the day doing that and then look at all the chores I have yet to do, I feel doubleplus oppressed. I seem to be setting myself up for a no-win situation in this respect. I must either classify it as "recreation", in which case I do not have the option, morally speaking, of saying "well I made food, so you guys do laundry/cat box/vacuum/etc."; or it is "work", in which case the group gestalt would be "well, no one said you HAD to spend an entire day in the kitchen, we'd be content with jar sauce". --I realize this probably seems like a no-brainer for all of you playing along at home, but it's a revelation for me.