I sat down, as I often do in front of a computer, and began thinking of things to write about. I starred at my screen and typed out two words which were promptly deleted. A desire burned inside me to deliver a message of significance. I wanted to say just what you, my dear reader, needed to hear in this moment. I typed another now deleted word or two and tried to focus. Dashitall. All I could think about was eating chocolate frosting. Thick, fudgey, rich frosting. By the spoonful. I turned away from my computer and ventured to the kitchen for a drink of water, which did nothing but increase my need for the craving. I resumed my seat at the desk and turned to other blogs for topic inspiration.
Birthdays. Everyone was having birthdays and posting pictures of their delicious cakes, which seemed to be predominately iced in luscious peaks of chocolate heaven. I thought back to my kitchen just down the hall. I mentally scanned the nearly empty fridge. I pictured the supplies stashed in pantry. My eyes began to well up as I realized the only chocolate in the house was hot cocoa mix. I pictured that stupid thermostat at 90 degrees which it's been for most of the week.
My forehead began to sweat. No, hot chocolate might have killed me. I considered eating the powder with a spoon and cringed at the thought.
I leaned against the back of the chair and inhaled deeply telling myself that I didn't need chocolate. What I needed to do was write about something that would uplift you, my dear reader, and make you want to be a better person by, I don't know, not littering, speeding only in desperate situations, or not to take cake from distracted children. Did I just write. . . cake. . . with chocolate. . . (gulp) frosting?
This is going to be a long afternoon.