Yesterday, I had this stunning (and kind of awful, really) realization that I am two years away from the real world. I talk about it all the time, yes, but you know how sometimes the magnitude of a situation will just hit - slam into - you with no warning and all of a sudden, you just get it in a way that you never have before?
Yep. That happened. That realization was accompanied by the realization that once I'm in the real world, I'll have to have my own apartment (Stanford spoils us with guaranteed four-year housing) (most of which comes with a cleaning lady, dining hall and/or chef, and toilet paper that magically shows up in the bathroom without you having to worry about it). And that realization led to the next one: I can't cook. I can't turn on the stove, I don't know how to compare prices at supermarkets, and although I've told my grandparents that I'm a natural baker - the only things I've baked before came out of Pillsbury mixes, and if I messed that up, I'd have bigger problems to worry about.
And so, I did what any self-respecting young adult going through a fit of realizations would do. I scampered into the kitchen when my mom wasn't looking, because she and no one in their right mind, would willingly let me in there - I Googled "biscotti recipe" (I used this one) because that was what I was craving at the moment. I called upon my dad to help me locate all of the necessary ingredients, and I baked gosh darn biscotti. And it was good.
At least I know I won't perish due to hunger when I'm in the real world. Worst case scenario, I'll bake up an arsenal of biscotti, and call it a day.
