I am childlike. In some contexts this statement could be seen as a compliment. It’s not meant to be one this time.

I hate to cook. I love to cook.

I hate the idea of cooking on the drive home, after a particularly long day at the office. Once I get home and start slinging pots, pans and ingredients… I’m in love.

I’m not particularly creative, daring, or good. But I’ll take the occasional chance. Like tonight. I don’t know if I’ll be able to replicate one of tonight’s dishes – if anyone wants me to when it’s finished. I lost track of spices. All I know is I started with rinsed quinoa and chicken broth.

If I were more mature, I think I’d look forward to cooking. I’d see through the haze of fatigue to something I enjoy. It would be something I’d look forward to after a bad day.

I suppose none of that matters now though. Right now I’m having fun.