Last night I resurrected an old practice of mine: Drunk Baking. The result of my intoxicated efforts: from-scratch chocolate sheet cake with homemade chocolate icing. It’s pretty fucking awesome, if I do say so myself.

Yesterday afternoon was a bitch, and I knew I needed something to focus on or I’d spend the evening as a weepy, hormonal mess, hence the cake. I’m a surprisingly industrious stress-drunk – by the time J got home at 6:30, I’d baked and iced the cake, cleaned the kitchen of my mess, unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher, cleaned out our stinky trash can, started dinner, and polished off an entire bottle of wine.

When I shared this story with my coworker (as he shoveled cake into his mouth), he said, “I know what I’m getting you for Christmas: a nice Riesling and an invitation to my house.”

(Wow, out of context, that sounds incredibly inappropriate.)

I’m feeling better today, in more ways than one, though perhaps a teeny bit queasy – I haven’t had that much to drink in quite a while.

It was actually nice being a little drunk – I was able to tell J about everything I’ve been stressing about without going into The Ugly Cry. I don’t know about you guys, but for me, every kind of upset – angry, disappointed, frustrated, sad, overwhelmed, any combination of those, etc, - turns into The Ugly Cry, and I HATE that, especially when I’m trying to get things off my chest. I feel like my message is lost because whoever I’m talking to is reacting to the crying instead of what I’m saying.

But last night, I was loopy enough that I felt a little farther removed from everything, and was able to say everything I needed to. I wish I could do that all the time, but drunken rants and baking, as cleansing as they may feel, are not exactly the most healthy way to deal with one’s feelings (ha).