The food dye splashes over my counter
And my skin, watercoloring my wrist
Blending in with the red and blue of my tattoo
Most of the drops make it on the cookie dough
Red, blue, green, and yellow
And when I stir the butter to amber
It doesn’t burn
I hang eleven plastic candles from the ceiling
I would have hung twelve but I’m out of batteries
At the top of the ladder at eight o’clock
Alone in the office
I imagine saying
‘The irony is not lost on me’
If HR has to do worker’s comp for herself
To my boss I say
I’m looking for a little inspiration
The booshie seminar at the South Congress Hotel
Puts a Yeti in the gift bag
And has little glass bottles of Coca Cola Light
It is a comfort, I think, as people leaders speak
About the same problems, the same circles
People want this but then don’t want it and then want it
My head spins
So I hang plastic candles
In the evening
Waiting for the morning
When people say
They aren’t into Harry Potter
Anyway
Pretzels rods dipped in white chocolate
Dusted with colored sprinkles
And the cookie dough tastes sweeter than I remember
Too sweet, maybe, but I ran into Target twice
I forgot the food dye
And to the grocery store once
I was out of baking soda
So I am committed to making a hurricane out of my kitchen
Recklessly pouring sugar and flour and dark chocolate chips
While I listen to a book that tells me to stop giving so many fucks
Or at least choose the fucks I give
Tonight I chose this
With Love,
Natalie