Last night when I came in from work, I had mad plans of starting on this monster paper I've been deliberately putting off. Fifteen pages of intricate analysis regarding some large corporation about which I do not care. Knowing myself and also the luck of myself, I should have expected nothing less than downed internet, still heightened emotional instability due to a chronic lack of sleep, and the tear-jerking power of that stupid chick flick [where Deborah Messing gets to have wild, steamy sex with that guy in a boat and the most action I'll see is the loving 10-word text from afar]. I'd actually rather have the text from him than boat-sex with anyone else, but I'd really prefer...
[...you know where I'm going without having to spell it out]
When my computer was obviously not going to allow for corporate research and the most compelling plan for the night was to bury my head in a pillow to wail in animalistic fashion for 10,000 reasons other than missing him [namely stress from school], I instead tied on my proverbial apron, instantly making Martha jealous, and whipped up these tasty little pastries:
Morning Glory Muffins