Candy

I love candy. I would eat it all the time if I could. I love chocolates and fruit candy and caramel and everything in between. I even love those little circus peanut things and sugar coated gummy orange things. They get stuck in my teeth and I love it. I'm willing to eat it until I get sick to my stomach and I gain thirty pounds. It's about the only thing that makes me feel good every time I eat it. (Well, almost)

Or at least my mouth feels good. Most people think I'm some sort of glutton, but that's really not it. Or maybe it is, who knows? I just like instant gratification. People don't give it. Work doesn't give it. School doesn't give it. Life doesn't give it. So I'll get it from candy.

I could spend what I normally spend on my cell phone bill on candy and be loads happier. Candy doesn't remind me what kind of life I don't have. My silent phone does. And my open social calendar does too. Even my empty head reminds me. I am bereft of ideas. Bereft of signs of life between my ears. How does this happen? It's not that I'm lonely. I'm just alone all the time. I'd prefer to have someone around to talk to about stuff that happens every day. The only problem is that there is no one that would ever be willing to listen to anything I have to say. And the things I say are becoming more and more banal and unbearable to listen to.

Argh. (I'm part pirate, too)

So I guess this might just be a lesson in supply and demand. There is no demand for the contents of my brain, hence, the supply production has dropped sharply. I'm becoming the boring person everyone thinks I am. Or the depressing person everyone is tired of.

So it's candy for me. Bring on the sugar. My cavities and extra pounds will keep me company.