Cracking a jar of something, surely.
That’s the problem with throwing out fragments of ideas without any followthrough. I think, I’ll definitely remember what this is all about whenever I can get back to it, but it’s rare that the original thought stays intact very long without any flesh.

I might have been referring to my secret desire to can things. To have a whole cupboard dedicated to tins of tea, a pantry of preserves, a stockpile of soups. I guess it’s not so secret, but it strikes me as being the endeavour of someone who is very organized and uses their time wisely. I have never really considered myself such a person. Which is silly because it’s just a matter of application, and how much I want something.

For years I’ve told a story about how I’m not a good cook. I’m a great baker, but cooking? Nope. I scramble eggs moderately well, but anything fancier is beyond me. Recently I changed up my eating habits, in an attempt to shift away from sugar, which required some creativity with regard to meal prep. I spent the first two weeks amazed that I was pulling it off, and the next three finding a stride that was suitable and beneficial. And I didn’t suddenly morph into a good cook, though it seemed like it to the narrative I’ve maintained that I don’t know how to.
These are not difficult tasks but for some reason, perhaps self sabotage, I make them large and intimidating. I’ve proven to myself over the last 6 weeks of no sugar whatsoever, that it is not beyond me, and in fact have discovered that when I set my mind to it, I’m actually great at time management.

What is it about human brains that seem to latch on to lies more readily than untruths? And why, when faced with positive change are there so many slide-backs into old, familiar habits that no longer help? To be fair, I had concerns about the week of Hallowe’en, knowing my propensity for tiny chocolate bars, and I proved myself worthy of those concerns when I fell off the wagon in a grand way. But now that I know I can do it, it should be that much easier to get back on, each subsequent time I fall.