Morrison has always said I need a hobby. I say baking is my hobby, but it has a very clear point, feeding people, and doesn’t a TRUE hobby need to be less, I guess, productive? Cut to Joe getting suddenly and randomly very into play-doh and asking me to make him various foods with it. Cut to me fully ignoring him while I roll 40 tiny blueberries with my hands, while I mold tiny pieces of romaine lettuce for a salad. Cut to ME being the one who asks to play with play-doh. I’ve basically just turned one hobby into a tinier version of itself, but I’ve found something peaceful and pointless, besides my own extreme joy and the quieting of my brain, which in fact can be the point. I now basically have a grocery store of foods, they’re small and sweet and imperfect and often phallic, or poop-like. Currently taking requests, but please not a loaf of bread, as Joe can tell that my love of tiny play-doh foods no longer involves him, so now all he wants me to make are loaves of bread, which he then smushes into a big brown ball to keep by his head while he sleeps.