As of This Morning,

I woke up early, for the first time in a long time, and gulped down water. I watched the kittens struggling to walk, the brown one hiding behind the black one. Shy, much like me. I read something interesting about the ancient-ness of the Appalachian ranges in the US- Canada border, and wondered how the Earth has seen so many tenants, and like a very successful landlord, has managed to bury them- dead or alive. Instead of waiting for them to ask for their deposit, she made them the deposit.

The kitchen greeted me with the smell of cat food, a smell that I have decided to confess I am not fond of, but tolerate. The stove did not light, so coffee was not made. This broke my heart. But again, was tolerated. I found a cheese bun to warm in the microwave oven, and burnt my tongue out of a greed that rises when one is presented with a soft hot bun to bite into. Ungrateful, buns in the oven. Ungrateful, my mom has called me many times.

I persisted, and took each bite of soft bun with utmost meaning, carefully chewing it, keeping mind of how soft it was. A crumb that fell on my thigh was mistaken for an insect, and a wave of fear distracted me from the soft bun memoir being written in my head. I decided to speed ahead, and gulped the bun down to ensure no other rogue crumbs got any such ideas. Yes, the fallen crumb was devoured too.

In some romantic morning hope, I tried the stove again. It was clear to me that there would be no coffee today. So, I settled for hot water from the kettle instead.


Baking Buns

The yeast was not forming bubbles in the water. Not after five minutes, not even after ten minutes, and definitely not after I had finished reading two more chapters.

But the yeast water definitely smelled like yeast.

So I made a little hole right at the center of my flour and salt mixture, and drowned it in my bubble-less yeast water.

After a lot more flour than specified, I had a little dough ball of sorts. I let it rest until it doubled in size and looked like saggy but smooth, olive oily skin. I poked it once, twice and folded it thrice.

Four buns were baked, golden from being generously coated with olive oil. Upon each, delicate cracks, because I had attempted to carve patterns.