I am deathly allergic to chocolate. Now, don’t get all sad-eyed on me and feel sorry for me. It’s probably a good thing. I can still shimmy into my size four jeans, even at a stones throw the distance from 60. I am sure chocolate would have ruined my (already) generous bottom. True, I’m not rocking a Niki Minaj booty, but let’s say its generous. 

If you do feel the need to throw pity my way, feel sorry that I am reduced to eating awful candy with stupid names, like Good N Plenty. Or try saying Necco Wafers with a straight face. You can’t do it, can you? Then of course there are delightful confections such as Warheads, or Boston Baked Beans, but I have stumbled off the path here, something I am prone to do with a half-assed brain.

Back to the topic. Yes, what was it? Oh, right. Those damn Good N Plentys.

I was painting yesterday in my garden and I was in the middle of an existential crisis, pondering my destiny, fate, call it what you like, and felt the need for something comforting. I soon found myself limping down Broadway in search of something to soothe my soul. (Years ago I would have simply reached into the cabinet and pulled out a fine bottle of Merlot or an Argentinian Malbec, but those days are long gone. Sigh.) I can’t, wont, eat gluten so a delicate pastry that melted in my mouth was out of the question. That left me walking into Walgreens to stand in front of the candy section.

I must have looked odd, an older woman in overalls, covered in paint, pondering every box and bag of candy. A handful of people came by, found the candy of their dreams, and walked away. Not me. I thought and thought and thought and finally decided that the glaring pink box of Good N Plenty was the one for me.

I paid and left the store, anxious to pop one of those sugar pills into my mouth. I was so looking forward to the sweetness.

I knew, deep down inside, that I would pay for my folly. Like great sex, there would be some price to pay, I was sure of it. And of course, there was.

A few minutes after indulging in a handful of pink and white confections, the tingling grew worse. The head pressure ramped up. And the tight muscles, bone pain, woozy, fatigue, etc..  kicked in. To add to my distress I decided to watch a movie after dinner. I chose (badly) to watch The Fault In Our Stars. (Don’t watch it if you are freaked out about death, or illness, or can’t handle big emotions.) I was okay watching it, or so I thought, but when I woke up this morning, man, back in the thick of it. I blame the candy the most, but I am sure my CNS didn’t need a tearjerker on top of the sugar, food colorings and god only knows what else I ingested in the guise of candy.

I spent three hours in bed this morning before I braved getting up. I’m writing and painting this morning, and doing my best to keep my sense of humor about this whole efffed up process of healing. My head pressure and woozyness (is that even a word?) is really, really, really, bad. I want to walk a half block to get a latte, but I am not sure I can make it. That’s how bad it is today. I’m forgoing my one delightful indulgence because I don’t want to be vertical any more than I have to be.

As I move closer to 39 months free on the 23rd, you find me with my jaw on the floor.How. In. The. World. Can. It. Go. On. This. Long.

Note to self, no more candy. Maybe I need to try great sex instead. Oh, wait a tic. That would mean a man in my life. Nope. Ain’t ready for that. Maybe next sugar craving I’ll try something with a more sensible name. Maybe Twizzlers? 🙂