Local Woman Power-Walks Through Kitchen Insisting She Doesn’t Need Help, Radiates Pure Anxiety

"This is fine, this is normal."

Peoria, IL—In a historic feat of self-delusion and culinary gymnastics, local woman Sarah Jenkins confidently assured her family that she had everything "under control" during their annual dinner, despite vibrating at a frequency that experts now claim could power the International Space Station for at least 72 hours. The Department of Energy has already sent inquiries.

"I’m totally fine, seriously, it’s all good!" Sarah declared, gripping a whisk with the force of a UFC fighter clutching a championship belt. As she whipped the mashed potatoes with the frenetic energy of someone trying to send them back in time, she darted to the oven with the precision of a bomb squad technician defusing a live explosive. "You all just relax!" she added, voice cracking in a way that suggested her relaxation instructions were not only non-binding but actively hazardous to follow.

Witnesses recall that Jenkins, 42, began the evening by rejecting all offers of help, grinning like a hostage negotiator while chopping vegetables at the speed of light, muttering, "This is fine, this is normal," as she peeled potatoes with such intensity that three of them spontaneously combusted. Sources confirm that the phrase "Everything’s going to be perfect!" was repeated with increasing volume, pitch, and desperation, occasionally punctuated by an eerie, high-pitched giggle.

Family members began to grow concerned when the ambient temperature in the kitchen approached that of a medium-sized supernova, a side effect of the uncontainable anxious energy Sarah was emitting. "At one point, she whisked so fast I’m pretty sure she unlocked time travel," said her sister-in-law Diane, who had been informed earlier that her salad-making expertise was “neither needed nor wanted.”

"I mean, I don’t even know where she learned to julienne carrots like that," added her husband, Tom, eyeing a mountain of flawless vegetable slices that seemed to have appeared out of thin air. Sarah, meanwhile, buzzed past him, narrowly dodging the fridge door like she was rehearsing for a kitchen-based parkour competition, a tray of hors d'oeuvres in hand. “We’re going for Michelin stars, people!” she shouted, with the fervor of someone convinced that Gordon Ramsay himself might pop in for a surprise critique.

Back in the living room, family members nervously sipped their drinks, occasionally checking to see if their wine had evaporated from the rising kitchen heat. "It’s like she’s emitting some kind of anxiety radiation," said her mother, Susan, eyeing the flickering lights overhead. “Honestly, I think she could power the grid if she just focused hard enough.”

By the time the turkey emerged, glowing with an aura of pure stress, Sarah’s internal reactor had gone into full meltdown. Reports indicate that nearby electronic devices began to short-circuit as the stress hormones in the air reached unprecedented levels. "I think we should call someone," whispered her cousin Matt, from his self-appointed safety zone near the dessert table, where he was eyeing the pies as potential fallout shelters.

Despite a series of increasingly desperate offers to assist—ranging from "Can I help carry something?" to "Please, for the love of all that’s holy, sit down for five minutes"—Sarah remained resolute. She alone would conquer this dinner. With the demeanor of a CEO facing a hostile takeover, she declared, “I’m fine! Dinner will be ready in exactly two minutes," her voice carrying the faint threat that the space-time continuum itself might unravel if her timeline wasn’t strictly adhered to.

As the meal concluded and Sarah finally sat down, twitching like an overstressed hummingbird in a wind tunnel, she surveyed her family with a shaky smile. "It’s just...so nice to have everyone together," she said, as her eye twitched in a Morse code pattern that likely translated to "HELP." Family members nodded, silently chewing, acutely aware that nobody in the room was brave enough to mention the looming dish pile in the kitchen.

At press time, local officials confirmed an unexplained surge in the power grid, timed precisely with the moment Sarah started wondering if she’d made enough gravy, while NASA reportedly expressed interest in harnessing her stress levels for future space missions.