Sometimes readers ask me how I can write so much and keep thinking of (allegedly) funny things to say, so I will tell you: It’s a struggle. I don’t mean that it’s a struggle in the same way as actual problems, like a hospitalization, forest fire or running out of mayonnaise when you really want a sandwich. I just mean that it’s hard to get myself to write anything because while I am writing, I urgently desire to be someplace else, not writing. After forcing out a sentence or two I feel an overwhelming restlessness. I am itching to get up and go into another room or get into the car and drive away. I think of anything I can possibly do to avoid writing the thing I need to write, so I procrastinate by writing other articles. (In fact, I am writing this article to avoid writing another article that is due in mere hours.) I basically trick myself into doing work to avoid doing other, more pressing work.
It would be so much less aggravating if I could sit down at my desk and simply write an article with one long, cohesive string of words from start to finish. The thing that ultimately motivates me to keep going is that I have so many thoughts in my head, it’s a relief to remove them and make room for other things. I must free up enough neural pathways to remember why I came upstairs to stand in this room. Seriously, why am I here?
But once a week, I get to stop writing so that I can make something delicious. Or somewhat delicious. Or really just awful. But the point is, I’m giving myself something to do with my hands instead of my brain. Although I do also use my hands to type, so I suppose cooking is maybe not that much of a contrast to writing. But when I’m cooking, I’m using my brain less. Sometimes a lot less.
Case in point: I thought I’d try a recipe that my daughter, who is home from college for the summer, has been begging me to make: Brazilian lemonade, made with sugar, water, sweetened condensed milk and limes.
