No, I didn’t eat chocolate cake. But damn it all to hell… I thought about it. Still. Again. Whatever.
This is how it goes: I’m sitting at my desk, diligently working. Or surfing. Or writing a blog post. Or whatever… just doing something that’s a variation of “minding my own business and not hurting anybody”… when the mass announcement comes through the corporate overlords’ email system:
“Chocolate cake in the main kitchen… Happy Birthday to Brad, Erik, and Tim!”
Yes, I could just go have a bite, and the world wouldn’t end. But I don’t really want a bite.
What I really want is to for my outside to reflect the strength and commitment of my inside. To look superfit. And maybe just a little intimidatingly strong.
And I’m not there yet.
And I won’t get there eating a bite of motherf*cking chocolate cake everytime someone puts it within fork’s reach.
So riddle me this, dear friends: How much longer do you think it will be before I stop thinking, “I could just go have a bite.”?
‘Cause I just get sick of the mental battle sometimes, ya know?
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