I'm baking bread today. I wanted to do the whole thing from scratch, but I couldn't find yeast in the grocery store. So, I got one of those pre-mixed kits with the flour and stuff and the little yeast packet. The mix is made by a company in Oregon and costs about a dollar more than a good loaf of fresh baked bread at the store. Nonetheless, cost-effectiveness aside, I've been wanting to do this for a while now. I must say though, even cheating with the prepackaged mix, bread making is exhausting. There's a lot of kneading and pounding and waiting for the dough to rise and double in size. I've been making bread for about two and a half hours now, and I've yet to even bake the damned thing.

Maybe exhausting isn't the right term for bread making. Let me think for a minute. It's a process that is basically fraught with fear and tension. What if the dough doesn't rise? What if I didn't knead enough? What if I screwed up royally by purchasing the ten whole grain mix when I generally don't even like whole grains? It's a lot of nail biting, a lot of second guessing, a lot of wondering. And, actually, the whole process reminds me of another kind of process. Maybe that's why they call it "a bun in the oven." Anyway, what is it the kids say these days? That's right- TMI.

This is my last Sunday of being 28, and here I am, spending a gorgeous summer day inside, baking bread and reading. But fear not, my life's going to be much more exciting tomorrow. Carole and I (and her dad, the ever-adorable Steve!) are going to the Tori Amos concert tomorrow evening, to be followed by a leisurely Tuesday of hanging downtown and finally checking out the new modern wing of the art institute. I can't wait. I need to break up the routine a little, and tomorrow and Tuesday should be just what the doctor ordered. Now excuse me while I go peer at a ball of dough to see if it's made any progress in the rising department.