We now return you to my regularly scheduled existential crisis...

Remember when I was good at blogging? Yeah, me either. It's been five months since I last posted. Five. Months.

Remember this post? One of the last before I virtually shut the hell up? The one where I was all fulfilled and excited about new beginnings? Remember when I thought I finally had it all figured out? Yeah. Me either.

I thought I'd found it, that I'd finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up. But here am I, looking 32 in the face, still wondering what I'm going to do with my life. Sure, my new (okay I guess it's not so new anymore) bakery life has its perks. I love getting all OCD on chocolate dipping cookies. I adore many of my customers. I've learned a TON. But if I'm really honest with myself...if I really quiet all the rambling questions and to-do lists in my brain and allow myself the luxury of self-reflection...this isn't it. I thought it was. But it's not.

Thank you...

My Sweet Husband,

I went to the store to find you a card this morning. I spent an hour reading and re-reading every anniversary card available. And you know what? They sucked. None of them came even the slightest bit close to expressing how truly and deeply I love you. Not a single one could properly convey just how much being your wife means to me. No card could really say how thrilling, comforting, and awe-inspiring the past three years have been.

Letter to a Stranger

Dear Old Man,

You've come into the bakery almost every morning since I started. I hear it's been years. You order a cup of coffee and you sit. For hours.

And you're dying.

Every morning, I see less life in you than the morning before. When I first served you, you were able to mutter shakily, "Small coffee." Now, you can only shake. Luckily, I know.