On Saturday I got up before dawn to bake. I didn't plan on it, it just turned out that way. First I couldn't sleep. Then, since the rest of the family was up I thought that I'd leave the bed and go join them. Then I was hungry. And what I was hungry for- donuts.

To paraphrase the great Homer Simpson "mmmmmmmm.......... donuts."

It took me the entire morning. Started at 6 am, and didn't finish frying until noon. But boy are they good.

I'm still mourning the loss of my ideal. Or I'm still trying to live up to it. Have't figured out which it is, all I know for certain is that I'm stricken with these wierd feelings that I've failed my loved ones because I'm not a classic 1940s housewife. It's scary. In my head I know that it's not right, and it's not logical and it doesn't make sense. In my heart I believe it. That's where the conflict comes from. That's where I need to be medicated until I can come to some sort of middle ground.