Working with a Limited Palette

From about.com's Art Glossary:

Definition: When an artist deliberately restricts the number of colors they use in a painting, they're said to be using a limited palette.

I've been baking bread, croissants, cookies and casseroles in my tiny toaster oven.

One of my PTSD triggers is having a man come to my house.
 I am convinced in the most irrational way that the man (AT&T guy, Dish network guys, Gas co. guy, piano tuner guy, landlord guy, electrician guy) is going to rape and kill me.

If you slapped me across the face several times and yelled at me that I should snap out of it and it's no big deal, well, that wouldn't work. I would just hate you and add you to my list of unsafe people.

My Mom use to pretend to smack my face over and over making the slapping sound effect with her mouth and then say "snap out of it!" That was suppose to be funny I guess but she didn't do it at funny times. She would do it while I was telling her that I was suicidal or something.

Anyway, our oven doesn't work, though it's beautiful and large and would bake several loaves at a time. But I cannot handle the anxiety of having the landlord come look at the oven or any of the anxiety of asking my husband to handle the landlord interaction. He'll literally ask me why I can't do it and then remind me that he works full time.

So, I am baking tiny loaves of bread in my tiny toaster oven. And that's ok right now I think. Because the bread is being baked and is coming out beautifully and I am just learning that if you want homemade french bread or white bread it will take seven hours of sustained conscious thought to make it happen. That's a long time not to be having flashbacks to being raped or whatnot.

Last night's nightmares starred Christy, Anne and a bunch of college boys and also a bunch of Nazi's. I had my puppy in my arms running around my dorm hallways trying to dodge groups of armed Nazi's. I knew which hallways not to enter and back secret stairwells to scurry around. The whole time trying to keep Lenny Bruce (my puppy) from whimpering or barking. I find the room I know Christy and Anne will be hiding and will keep me safe. But when I open the door and close it behind me I find the right room but no Christy and Anne. There are about five college boys also hiding from the Nazi's. But instead of keeping me safe they rape me. And they kill my puppy.

Then I wake up drenched and shaking and have to make lunch for my daughter and brush her hair with detangling spray and remind her to wear socks with her Hello Kitty sneakers because of the blister on her heel.

I'm really going to try to make white bread today.

I've even been considering making white bread the way my 1933 recipe book describes but adding food coloring to each little loaf so my little white breads are really green bread, red bread, yellow bread and blue bread. Maybe I'll mix up my palette even more and make pink bread and orange bread. But it's all white bread.

I won't be limited by my palette. I will be freed.