2:00 AM - Annabelle B. (2022

By Annabelle B. (2022)

It’s 2 AM and I’m not asleep. It’s 2 AM and I should be working on my essay. I should have finished it hours ago. It’s 2 AM and I have an EQR due tomorrow and I haven’t even started it. It’s 2 AM and I’m baking.

I’m baking because when the thoughts in my head turn to all caps and start fluttering and clanging on the sides of my skull I turn to butter and sugar and flour and the familiar sound of Taylor Swift’s voice. I turn to the rhythm of measuring and mixing, of pouring and whisking. It’s 2 AM and my parents are asleep upstairs and I’m too scared to turn on the mixer so I just whisk. I just whisk until my doubts and my stupidity and my fear of getting anything less than a B+ fall into the batter and combine into the swirling tan of snickerdoodle dough.

I’m baking because I know the second I turn off the lights in the kitchen and lay in my bed, the knowledge that my grades will never be good enough and that essay will never have enough substance to get me that A that I crave and wish for will fill my head with swirling thoughts and swarm my senses. I know that as soon as I stop folding in the chocolate chips and close my eyes that I will see myself failing in every conceivable way. I know that as soon as I pull the cake out of the oven and my head hits the pillow all of those thoughts I mixed

into batters and doughs and frostings will be right there waiting for me, and it’ll be like I never even took a break.

It’s 3 AM and I’m still baking. I’m baking because the choux pastry came out a little funky, and I have enough butter, so why not make it again? I’m baking because my royal icing was too runny to pipe that design I wanted to try onto my cookies. I’m baking because those cupcakes won’t frost themselves, and I might as well make sugar flowers while I’m at it. I’m baking because there are still 3 dozen snickerdoodles that need to be shaped, rolled in cinnamon sugar, and baked, and I want to sleep before the weekend. I’m baking because maybe if I reach my oven-mitt-covered hands into the oven enough times, maybe I’ll finally be less afraid of it. I’m baking because I don’t know how to stop.

It’s 4 AM and I’m writing. I’m writing and words are pouring out of me for the first time in years and I’m scared that if I don’t write they might go away and not come back this time. I’m writing and my cookies are baking and I might be crying a little bit and I’m still baking.

It’s 5 AM and I’m not baking. The choux pastry is perfect. The cookies are iced, and the royal icing is piped. The cupcakes are frosted with sugar roses covering each one. The snickerdoodles are cooling on the counter. I’m not baking, but I’m still awake.

It’s 6 AM and I have to get ready for school. It’s 6 AM and I never

worked on my essay. It’s 6 AM and I didn’t finish the EQR. It’s 6 AM and I’m still scared. It’s 6 AM and maybe just a little more concealer can cover up those dark circles and maybe if I just add a little mascara I can look alive. Just a bit more and the baking won’t show.

It’s 7 AM and at least I have cookies now. It’s 7 AM and I’m in the car and my backseat is filled with baked goods and my coffee rattles in the cupholder next to me and it’s 7 AM and I’m still not okay.