twitch. Twitch. I feel like the little squirrel on Ice Age, twitching from nerves and stress while unable to relax enough to sleep. My guts are twisted up in knots, my stomach hurts. I wish that the kidlet would take her nap so that I can take a nap of my own. Maybe later. I hope.

Bread is baking. I realize that bread won't cure all my problems, but it'll make me feel better. And with luck, it'll provide spiritual nourishment as well as feeding my body.