Why does coffee wake me up in the morning and make me sleepy in the afternoon? I just finished drinking a large coffee and can hardly keep my eyes open. What is wrong with me??

Last night I turned on our local NPR station just in time to hear a debate by Intelligence Squared. The topic: Give Trump A Chance. I was immediately mesmerized. This morning I told the two older kids to each pick a side and write about it. They read their opinions out loud to each other, and then I pulled up the debate on the internet so they could watch it.

One of my biggest pet peeves: how in some public restroom stalls, the toilet is off-center and closer to the toilet paper dispenser. Talk about precarious and awkward. I don’t get it.

For the last few days, I’ve felt sluggish. Cold—so cold—and sleepy and unmotivated. I do things, like make bread and explain the difference between multiples and factors and go running, but underneath it all is a heavy downward tug. If I were single and childless, these would be the days I’d curl up in my room and sleep/read/watch Netflix/drink wine (she says, wistfully).

Here’s a riddle that my younger son has been asking everyone: What is tall when it’s young and short when it’s old and glows for its entire life?

I’ve been on a bread kick, more specifically, a baked-in-a-pot artisan bread kick. Every day I mix up another batch, not bothering to wash the bowl even (see above photo). The fresh loaves are positively intoxicating and addicting, and they often vanish in mere minutes. Just think of the bread-making potential I’d have with two Dutch ovens!

Last Sunday, in a lull in conversation during an informal gathering of Sunday school delinquents, one of the women posed a question: What is a question you have that you don’t know the answer to? 

Questions ranged from what is the balance between productivity and non-productivity (mine), to why a particular restaurant location has such a high turnover rate, to why a parent refuses to explain the existence of his ancient and mysterious scar.

Question-asking—thoughtful question-asking—is such an art. And it’s a neat way to view the world, too. Kind of throws everything upside down.

This same time, years previous: the quotidian (2.15.16), the quotidian (2.16.15), buses, boats, and trucks, oh my!, sweet, just stuff, food I’ve never told you about, and making yogurt in the dehydrator.

This same time, years previous: chocolate pudding, how we do things, the quotidian (2.13.12), the outrageous incident of the Sunday boots, life, interrupted (I wish), potato gnocchi, a meaty lesson, and mocha pudding cake.

Alert the presses! My husband and I slept in until after 8:00 this morning!

I woke up earlier than that, but I kept falling back asleep, dreaming fantastical dreams about bread. Bread on rooftops, bread stuffed with all kinds of nubby goodness, and five-gallon-bucket-sized loaves of bread. When I eventually woke up for good, I just laid there, luxuriating in the bright light streaming in the windows, the quiet house, and the knowledge that we didn’t have to take my older daughter to the farm this morning.

We went running then, my husband and I. It was such a treat, to run in the warm sunlight, unencumbered by flashlights and headlamps. I about died, but still. It was nice.

This week has been an exceptionally good writing week: four (!) blocks of child-free writing time, plus two (!!) meetings with my writing groups.

My mom tells me that I’ll never get any writing done if I spend all my time in writing groups. She has a point, but not a good-enough one. I get a huge boost from reading other people’s work, listening to their writing process, observing their style. Plus, I’m extroverted and the groups’ (relaxed) deadlines give me reason to push myself.

Food is a large part of every writers’ group gathering. Depending on the host, there’s often cheese and wine, or tea, or homemade sugar cookies, or a banana-cherry pie made in with a yonanas machine. Often there are pretzels and grapes, and the afternoon sessions always include copious amounts of coffee.

Anyway, I hosted both groups last week. For the small group, I made ginger cream scones, and for the large group, sweet rolls. I had also baked a tea ring earlier that day, but I kept that back for the family. They can get rather titchy about me giving away all the goodies.

It was good I didn’t serve the tea ring, though: the bottom half was gummy raw, oops.

Along with the two writing groups, I also have two other writing coaches/sounding boards/whatever: my brother and an out-of-state friend. One time when I was in the depths of despair about my work (and I mean that in the most serious of ways: curled up in bed crying my eyes out), I told my husband that I was afraid I couldn’t do this. I’m stupid, I said. I can’t even do basic organization. And then, as proof of my ineptitude, I cited all the people who are helping me.

My husband cocked an eyebrow. “Um, Jennifer? Have you seen the acknowledgment sections in books? There’s a reason they’re super long: most writers don’t write a book all by themselves.”

I felt a little better after that. And super-duper grateful for all my longsuffering cheerleaders.

I’ve been spending more-than-normal amounts of time at Panera, writing and drinking coffee, and I’ve got my visits down to a science.

1. Since they boot me off their internet at 11:30, when the lunch hour picks up, I make sure to get there by 8:30 so I have a solid three hours.

2. I buy a coffee and spend the first little bit checking email and blogs while the warmth from the drink seep through the cup to my fingers, prepping them for their work-out. Once the coffee hits my blood stream—I can practically feel my brain clicking into high gear—I shut down Facebook and open my Google docs.

3. After about an hour, I refill my coffee cup (light roast and half decaf) and buy a cinnamon crunch bagel, toasted, no butter, to go with it. Or, as in Thursday’s case, an orange scone.

4. I take bathroom breaks as needed. The trot to and from the loo gets my blood flowing and the wiggles out.

I find that when I leave home to write, I’m often more productive.

Of course, there’s the time lost driving there and back, so in the long run it’s probably no more productive than my at-home style of fritter-writing? On the other hand, when I write in public, I’m more focused.

I just finished reading Kitchens of the Great Midwest—such a fun book—and it reminded me of Olive Kitteridge. What should I read next?

Last night my older daughter and I binged on Parks and Rec. It’s so fun, finally getting to share my favorite shows with my kids. We are both huge April fans.

And then I watched some Portlandia. I was still laughing, even as I was falling asleep.

(All these Netflix are proof: I really need a good book.)

After yesterday’s frigid temps (didn’t get out of the 20s, I don’t think), this morning’s warmth made it seem like the whole world was cooing.

Naturally, I got a hankering for hot dogs. One thing led to another and now my brother’s family and my parents are coming over for grilled veggies and hot dogs.

So now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go whip up a batch of rock-my-world cocoa brownies to go with the ice cream and caramel sauce we’ll be having for dessert.

What are your supper plans?

This same time, years previous: chasing fog, one-pot macaroni and cheese, school: the verdict, addictive and relaxing, hauling wood, and my me-me list,