Fucking hubris

Hubris is when you've decided to make salted caramel sauce [it's as amazing as it sounds, truly] to go with the homemade dark chocolate triple chocolate chip ice cream that is spinning in your ice cream maker while you are finishing up some freelance work and thinking about what you'll make for dinner tomorrow night [because you do nothing if not plan ahead when you can] [it's probably going to be pasta with sauteed vegetables and some grilled chicken] and think about when you need to get the sides going for dinner tonight [au gratin potatoes and roasted Brussels sprouts] and as you make it, you think, "I've made this 4 or 5 times already and it's never been a pain or a problem or burned me - in fact, it's so fucking easy, I'm going to go into the office and check when my DVDs are due back at the library," only to come back into the kitchen to find that your sugar has burned and stunk up the place, but instead of completely losing your mind [like you did when the pie crust you tried to make for beef pot pie was too wet and it signaled the end of the fucking world], you merely set the pan on the back burner and think, "Big deal, a 1/2 cup of sugar, who cares, I'll start a new pan," and then, because you have OCD which makes it impossible to leave something undone, you think, "I should really empty out that still boiling pot of sugar," and you pour it into the plastic garbage bin liner upon which it completely starts MELTING EVERYTHING and you frantically pull the plastic garbage liner out of the can instead of just taking the can outside because evidently the TOXIC CHEMICALS WHICH HAVE BEEN RELEASED have addled your thinking at which point a 1 centimeter long piece of burnt caramel lands on the edge of your hand, right under your pinky, and then you lose your mind like you did when the pie crust betrayed you, calling your husband in from the outdoors to PLEASE, HURRY, COME HELP, because you are pretty sure you are dying.

Goddamn Greeks and their big ideas.