Kellogg's Aint Got Nothin' on Me

I have had the urge to make pop tarts lately.  And by "make" I mean make...not simply toast.  I am not much of a fan of the packaged, store bought variety anyhow.  The crust gets too crunchy, the filling gets too hot, and Goldilocks is not fond of having her mouth scalded and scratched all in one bite.  Plus, the possibilities for fillings are endless: fresh jam, nutella, pesto and cheese, minced pear and Gruyère, etc.  But, alas, our oven is still broken and I am unable to try out possible recipes.  For now, I will have to be content with it simply preheating in my mind and hopefully, after having kneaded, baked, and glazed dozens of imaginary pop tarts, my first real life batch will hold perfection.

In the meantime, I have been furiously spending my energy on the Stairmaster.  This past weekend I went to the gym no less than five times.  I should probably note that it was a long weekend and I'm considering Friday to be a part of said weekend.  I should probably also note that that this kind of commitment to is somewhat very much out of character for me.  I have had this gym membership (thanks, mom and dad) for seven months now and haven't gone in four.  About four months ago gravity and concrete got into a fight and I was a casualty.  Concussed, the doctor restricted me from the gym for six weeks.  Being that my brain is rather important to me, I decided to be extra careful and take an additional ten weeks to give my cranium adequate time to heal.  If my brain doesn't want to go to the gym, who am I to argue with it?  

At the end of the day, however, I can't hide from the truth. My oven bailed on me, my bank account hates me (yours would too after four grand in dental bills in three months... but that's a post for another day), my swim wear is fearing the warm months ahead, and I am in need something to expel all my pent up energy on.  My answer has been exceedingly clear: dig out the sneakers (and Icy Hot), brush the cobwebs off my yoga mat, and brave being talked to by sweaty gym rats.  Thus far, it has gone really well.  It would have gone really really well if I had not attempted the advanced poses in my very first day of yoga (I'm Indian...aren't mad yoga skills inherent?).  None of that matters now, however.  I am feeling rather zen about life and about the oven situation.  Plus, the back spasms have subsided, the oven parts have been shipped, I get paid in three days, and life seems to be returning back to normal.  Well, normal with enough surprise jolts thrown in to keep me excited...much like biting into a pop tart expecting fake mucus-like strawberry substance and instead finding a warm blueberry compote with a cream cheese glaze drizzled delicately over the top.  Oh goodness, who am I kidding?  Anyone know how to expedite mail that has already been shipped?