Is there a prize for being really good at burning porridge while writing? A uni degree, perhaps? Because I am a goddamn master at it.
Me: (writing) Hmm, I'm hungry. (wanders out to kitchen, peers into cabinets.) Hmm. Everything requires serious cooking except for the oat bran. I know, I'll make porridge! It will be nice and warm for a cold day and I'll be full for hours so I can get things done without my stomach bothering me.
(Assembles pot of oat bran and milk. Maybe with some chocolate, or some goji berries and cinnamon)
(goes back to writing)
(smells burning, runs out to kitchen. Boiled-over milk is ALL OVER the stove-top. Oats crusted and blackened to bottom of pot.)
Me: GODDAMN IT