Candy Corn Madness

Today, I ate a handful of candy corn at work and it felt like doing drugs.

It’s one of those blessed and cursed holiday goodies that feels so good but is just so, so bad. And there’s no one to blame but myself – because I’m the one who bought to bags of it standing in the impulse aisle at CVS this morning, and I’m the one who put it out with a “FREE” sign at the coffeehouse this afternoon, and I’m the one who helped myself.

Add to that the fact that my boss saved a broken wheat-free peanut butter cookie for me at work today, and I’ve essentially been high for 12 hours and counting. White sugar, my friends, when you hardly ever eat it, can be effectively maddening.

Then Noelle came over to my house this evening with a bunch of friends and, yes, a plateful of homemade gluten-free chocolate angel food cake (with sugar-orange icing). She left the leftovers in my fridge and I am going to ignore them and bring them to a potluck on Wednesday where other people can eat the remains and get fat, but no me!

In other news: This week I saw a family of wild turkey pecking around my Volvo in the driveway, I spotted and followed bobcat tracks to a patch of fur where the animal had gotten hooked on barbed wire, then I saw a full-sized barred owl (24 inches) and hooted back in response to its call.

And other, other news: I know I’m not writing consistent blog posts. There is something shifting beneath. It’ll come, eventually. Meantime, I’m trying at least to turn to the page each day and not criticize it. So. Here I am. Now. Tonight. High on sugar. Sleep far, far away. Hours of homework joyfully awaiting my attention.

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