I had fun visiting my brother. Watching the children play in one of the fountains at Millennium Park made me think of a creature that I could put in a story somewhere. I had also made Crackcakes for work and brought some down with me. This time I made them rainbow with superorgasmic frosting, instead of milk...heavy cream. I had to hose down my face because I couldn't stop licking the bowl. I hereby solidified my cupcake cred with more family members. Sometimes I wonder why they think I can't cook or bake, or am unwilling to. I'm single with no kids, have a lot of time on my hands, and I enjoy making the potato salad, cupcakes, and stuff. Hell, if I'm bored, I just make stuff, because it's not like I've got anything better to do at the moment, and you have to eat sometime, right?

But maybe that's because no one realizes that for the last few years she was alive, I was the one doing a lot of the cooking for family stuff, just so she could visit. I was painfully anti-social then, but I could cook. I mean, she made the pies, but I was on salad detail, and sometimes side detail, and more than a few times on the main entree detail. But that's the funny thing living with my parents. I'd come home and cook because I wanted a meal, and suddenly two old people were hovering over my shoulder like, "What are you making? That sure smells good! Do you think you'll have enough to share a bite?"

I still feel like me again. I'm waiting for the depression that usually seeps in this time of year, but so far so good. I'm still feeling awesome and creative.