right when i woke up this morning, i was just lying in my bed thinking about all sorts of things. what am i doing with my life...should i go to church...what's for breakfast...damn i have a gb paper...my head hurts...why am i always so sad...what makes me so tired.....and then, the thought of dough entered my mind...


cause i remember i helping my mom awhile back knead some dough, and so i had a piece and i was like punching it and kinda playing around with it and then i was done. and then she was taking forever...really grinding everything in, and flattening it really thin, folding it over, and doing it again over and over. and i got a impatient, and so i was like "mom, i think it's done. lets bake" and she was telling me how important it was to really beat every ingredient into the dough, and how it was important to pound it in, knead it in, stretch it really thin and then pound knead and stretch it all over again. how if you just did a shitty job like i did, then there would be clumps of flour or salt that werent distributed in the dough, and the bread will be nassty. and i looked..i looked at my piece and noticed how hard it was...some little black clumps, and lumps of flour...and then i looked at hers, and everything was the same creamy color...the dough was soft, it could be easily molded, it smelled like bread. she looked at my piece, inspected it and said that we couldnt use it, and told me to throw it away...we put her piece in the machine. the bread tasted amazing.

"Should you shield the canyons from the windstorms you would never see the true beauty of their carvings."