092908

facts writing fiction
the ending is a cop-out

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Everything has just been building up. It’s too much, too much. My mind is racing racing racing and there’s nothing I can do to slow down I’m past the end and I just keep running running running. It’s too built up, too too built up and I can’t sleep, no time for sleep, I can’t relax, there’s no time for that, and I just want to rest but there is just no. Time. To. Stop. I can’t stop.

The first thing on my endless to-do list. I don’t understand why I volunteer to be involved with everything, be a part of everything, help goddamn everyone. I have to make cookies for my mom’s friends tonight but there’s So. Much. Nonstop. Maybe if I get this first thing, this one thing, done maybe the rest will come together on its own and I can stop. Relax. Stop. Relax. Calm down. Stop. I could stop.

The oven clicks at three-fifty.

It feels like everything has come onto me at once. School sports work family friends school sports work friends school work work school family friends work school family. And that’s just the beginning.

Whisking the flour, baking soda, and salt together ensures even leavening. This means that the cookie will rise correctly, that it won’t be lumpy and misshapen. The flour is the base for the cookie’s construction.

Sometimes I don’t think I can even do it anymore. I don’t even get a chance to breathe, some nights. Every Tuesday. Thursday. Wednesday. Sunday. Saturday. Friday. I take one breath Monday night and delve into the week again, never stopping resting sleeping breaking.

Cream the softened butter with the sugars. The creaming, all that mashing and mixing with my trusty rubber spatula, causes the sugar crystals to form air pockets, to make a softer cookie. The fats stop the gluten in the flour from forming. The sugar will melt and spread out the cookie.

I sometimes wonder if there’s a way to stop the madness, the chaos, the disgusting calendar on the wall, drowning in red pen.

If the butter is too soft, if it’s a liquid, the cookies won’t come out right.

If the butter is too hard, the creaming process won’t work out well.

If I don’t have time to breathe, my mind won’t work out well.

If I don’t have time to think, my life won’t work out well.

Add the eggs to the fats and the sugars. The yolks work to emulsify the finished dough for even texture. The whites’ proteins coagulate and contribute to the cookie’s structure.

Structure. I’ve got too much structure. I need less flour in my life.

A dash of vanilla for flavor.

I need more flavor in my life. While it adds a pleasant vanilla taste, vanilla extract itself is ninety-some percent alcohol; it has a terribly foul flavor and doesn’t taste good on its own.

Fold one third of the flour mixture at a time into the sugar mixture. Folding keeps the air in the dough. The egg and the gluten further protect the air pockets, for a fluffier cookie. If you stir the dough too much, the pockets will burst and the dough will become tough. The finished cookie will expose the mistake.

Am I stirring my dough too much?

All my work will be for nothing.

Stir in the chocolate chips. American cookies need to be bursting with carbohydrates, cholesterol, high fructose corn syrup, and chocolaty morsels in every bite.

I need more time to enjoy those morsels, those chocolaty morsels. I don’t think my cookies are even made with love; there’s just no time for love. Flavor and love are not totally interchangeable.

Put the dough onto greased pans in teaspoon-sized balls. Bake for ten to twelve minutes.

Ten to twelve minutes to rest stop relax break. Break. Break. I can’t break. But I can stop. It’s possible to stop, because now there’s nothing to do to the cookies. For ten whole minutes. Ten to twelve long minutes to stop. I’ve stopped and nothing bad has happened. I’m just sitting here, I’m resting, and the walls aren’t crumbling around me. There’s a slim chance I’m beginning to relax, but my mind doesn’t know where to genuinely start when it comes to that. Resting, stopping they come first.

If I can’t breathe,

If I can’t think,

I’m not truly functioning.

Maybe I need to please myself before I try to make everyone else happy.

Maybe it’s not really up to me to make everyone else happy.

Maybe everyone else makes him or herself happy first and I don’t even realize it.

Maybe I should

Cut

Down.

Cool

Down.

Cool down.

Cool down.

Cool down.

The cookies are coming out of the oven.

They need to

Cool down.

I have to wait for them to cool before I can write them off. Declare them finished. It feels so unusual to have time to think relax stop.

Have I broken?

No, the cookies aren’t cool yet.

All my activities responsibilities, they’re not for me. They’re all for someone else.

Like these cookies.

I need to quit. This isn’t for me. It’s tearing me apart.

School work friends family sports.

I hate sports. My mom said I needed scholarships. My dad said he’d be proud.

Take one batch out, put another batch in.

My sister was such a good student. I don’t want to let anyone down.

The oven is still radiating heat.

I hate my job. My friends work and my parents always complained about how they started working when they were years younger than I was.

I can’t take the heat, but I can’t get out of the kitchen.

No.

I’m starting over. I’m getting out of the kitchen.

The cookies are wrapped and ready to go.

My priorities are wrapped up and ready to go. I’ve got new priorities, ones where my wants and needs and concerns are important, too. I will do things for myself now.

Less hours at an easier job.

I can sleep.

One sport that I actually enjoy.

I can breathe.

Spending time with my friends and family when I want to.

I can stop.

I can run and jump and play and relax.

No more shit I can’t take I can’t handle I can’t stand. First thing tomorrow, I’m dropping out of all the superfluous, exhausting activities that I’ve grown to hate. I’ll tie up any loose ends, finishing up my remaining commitments. After that, I’m through.

I quit.

I break.

I’m done.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.