Theodora Elucubrare

So I cooked a duck for dinner tonight. And, as we all know, I overthink everything. First, on the animal nature of the bird: I realized, at some point, that there was a dead duckling in my sink, that it was once alive, and that I had my hand inside it and was taking out its organs. And that is kind of strange.

Second, on cooking itself. I really enjoy it. It's the only form of creation that I'm even halfway decent at. Everyone has a creative urge, the urge to use your hands and have a final, tangible thing that you can look at and show to other people, saying "I made this." Writing papers is different: Sure, you've got a product, but really, in undergrad, who's going to read it but your professor? and in any case, anyone can appreciate a nicely browned duck (well, except vegetarians). It's a simple form of satisfaction, and it's worth every minute of the two hours I spent on the meal.