"Armed with every precious failure"

Today I made a birthday cake for Boisterous (Light's girlfriend).  Then I realized that when Light went to the store, he had gotten an unsweetened chocolate with soy lecithin in it, which Boisterous can't tolerate.  So I made a second cake. On the one hand, it's kind of an end run around my issues with giving people cakes, because I'm always worried they've gone wrong and I can't taste them first.  On the other hand, two cakes.   Still have to make the frosting and send him over to leave it on their doorstep, ring the doorbell and run away.  (which he did successfully)

 

(Then I had to make two batches of frosting because some clever person (past me) included an unlabeled jar of salt in the bin that all my various sugars live in.  Fortunately I noticed before I added the rarest of the components of the recipe, the unsweetened chocolate.  But still, this is a cake fraught with disaster and as much as I like the final product of both cake and frosting, it might be a little bit cursed.   Next, after we've recovered from our chocolate overdose, I'll either try the BA chocolate blackout cake (which involves making pudding from scratch) or the BA chocolate fudge cake (which involves both almond meal and almond extract).)

 

Today, i actually wandered back onto facebook because my favorite basically-a-cousin had messaged me.   I had actually forgotten about the easter thing, but she sent me a picture of her delicious carrot cake cupcakes.    Then I posted in my current favorite group, tried to ignore everything else and ran away like I though I was going to catch fire.

 

Surgery required that I wear a compression bra for six weeks afterwards.  That last day has come and gone, and I thought I'd love to be free of it, I thought it would be liberating and I'd sleep better and I'd have less heartburn all those good things.  But I'm finding myself loathe to get rid of it, half-believing that all those braless years when I tried to capture some tangible benefit of the reconstruction are why the implants degrade and the scar tissue formed, but half feeling unprotected without it, like I found something to keep me from flying apart that I could wear under my clothes.  It seems a little overt, a little over-simplified, but I also feel better when I'm wearing it and who am I to deny myself a little comfort now.   I'm also mostly wandering around the house in said bra and pajama pants, it's not like I need to armor myself with tits and tattoos when I leave the house, because the only person I've seen in the past couple weeks is the pharmacist and we don't have that kind of relationship.