The Nervous Bakes

Some people get the nervous shakes. 
Or the nervous giggles.
I get the nervous bakes.
This leads me to do regrettable things, like attempt a batch of yeasted, flourless, sugarless, banana-oat bread at 1:30am.
Than a new recipe for chocolate peanut butter cookies at 2am. When I'm on a diet. 

I didn't realize I was nervous until I emptied the too-large jar of yeast, busted out the peanut butter and began mixing even though there were dirty dishes still in the sink.
I didn't realize I was nervous until I started planning a cookie spree instead of tomorrow's workout (I stopped that one dead in its tracks)
I didn't realize I was nervous until I started using Punchfork like a stress ball, scrolling farther and farther down the page with every squeeze of my heart, each clench of my stomach.
I didn't realize I was nervous until 20 different people asked me if I was nervous. I told them 
No.
I'm fine.
Excited.
Just fine.

Then I went a little nuts.
In the kitchen-with the rubber spatula and metal bowl I will have to leave behind.
With the oven knob and the tablespoon measure.
With the plastic wrap and tiny tasting spoon.

But now I know. I know I'm nervous. 
I know I screwed up. I know that tomorrow I will finally pack.
And finish that survey. And find my passport.

Oh, and I have some cupcakes to make, too.