I love cooking

 I love cooking.

I love baking.
Give me a free afternoon and I’ll happily make something from scratch and lose myself in it.

But deciding what’s for dinner every single night
That part drains my soul.

It’s not the cooking.
It’s the mental gymnastics.
The inventory check.
The who will eat this and who will dramatically gag.
The knowing that whatever I pick someone will be personally offended by.

I can make homemade bread and a beautiful dessert
but asking me at 4:47 pm what’s for dinner feels like a trap.

Sometimes I don’t want to be creative.
I want a menu that appears out of thin air and makes the decision for me.

Cooking brings me peace.
Choosing dinner feels like a group project I didn’t sign up for.

If loving to cook but hating dinner decisions is wrong
then I guess I’ll be wrong while eating cereal at 6 pm again.