So I wanted to post something lighter than the last bits. Something that makes me seem less insane and more approachable. Something witty.

I spent most of the day thinking about it, and failing to come up with anything. Eventually I said to hell with it, I’m going to make a pizza, maybe I can post about how delicious the pizza was. Or the recipe. Or something.

So I put the yeast in the warm water with some sugar and left it to rise some before adding it to the flour. Then I got some other ingredients ready and I sat down to jot some notes on the recipe in case I decided to post it on the blog. (Blog. I still can’t get over that.) I got all stressed out and upset, so I watched some television and played with Pudge (a well-loved cat, our cutest) and looked around at the houseplants and decided what I should do is work on my book.

I sat down and reviewed the last chapter, changed a word or two, mused on where this story is going, wondered if it makes any sense at all. I played with Lily (another well-loved cat, the fattest) and tried to let the dogs in. They wouldn’t come; it’s a really pretty day, and they were enjoying the sun. That made me wonder if I should post about all these adorable animals instead of pizza.

Oh yeah… Pizza.

The yeast had built skyscrapers. The foam was an inch above the rim of the cup and flowing over the sides.

By the way… the pizza was outstanding.