AUBREEVISION - Observations from the far side of the dial

Tonight has been a funky sort of night. Not in a bad way, necessarily -- more like half-cocked. Was mildly stressed about something after getting home from work -- the actual source of said stress is irrelevant, and in hindsight, minor -- and compensated with obsessive cleaning, my favoured reaction to most flavours of emotional discomfort. Now that I know myself, my triggers and my vices much better than I used to, I can distance myself from my behaviour in such a way that it becomes almost funny. I know exactly what I'm doing, why I'm doing it and what I'll do next. It becomes a colour commentary of sorts: "Three, two, one...and she's off, gearing up for another hot date with the lint brush." This bemused detachment is definitely a good thing -- I am in fact textbook obsessive-compulsive, and such OCD flareups as the one I experienced tonight are generally compounded by frustration with myself for "letting" them happen. Tonight, though, I realized that it's all right to have moments of weakness -- that being human means reaching for fixes, for things that make us feel in control, in moments of stress. We cope in every moment the best way we know how, which sometimes means stepping back from the fight and letting cravings get the best of us. So that's exactly what I did -- gave myself permission to go all Howard Hughes for an hour or so, without judgement or fear, in the knowledge that this too would pass. And that was pretty much that.

Ok, well, it wasn't quite that. I made myself stop cleaning after my designated hour had gone by, but between too much afternoon coffee and residual brainhype, I still felt slightly manic. That's when I got it into my head that I needed to make biscuits. I wanted biscuits, damnit, and nothing was going to stop me. Off I went to the kitchen and proceeded with my manic biscuit-making, dreaming of my pending late-night snack. A baking powder shortage didn't stop me -- baking soda's close enough, ain't it? I threw in some vinegar, a splash of milk and a big wad of butter for good measure, then crossed my fingers and sent a quick prayer to the biscuit gods.

By the time I took the biscuits out of the oven I was starving. Splitting two of them in half, I goggled longingly at their tender middles and meticulously topped them -- two halves with just butter, and two with one skimming each of butter and strawberry jam. They were perfect.

When I took the first bite I discovered the horrible truth -- that accidentally putting three tablespoons of baking soda in biscuits makes them taste like Tylenol, and that even the most lavish of jam-bombings is helpless to save them.