Today I came into work and there was a large bag of Ghiradelli Dark Chocolates on the fridge. Who brought these magic squares, I wondered. Who brought life and light in the form of single-serving chocolates into a usually stressful and 5-million-things-happening-at-once environment? I asked around, but no one knew where they came from and no one claimed to have eaten one, EVEN THOUGH there was clearly a half eaten one sitting atop the microwave. An office mystery? Was someone conducting a case study, wondering which one of my coworkers would break and take one first? Were they poisoned? Were they even real? Were they a chocolate mirage of torture, beckoning me to a false promise of sweet decadence? I stared at the bag from my desk all day, half desiring its contents and half questioning its existence in the first place, but around 3, drinking my afternoon coffee, I quit questioning. I accepted the fact that the chocolate was there, and whether it was there for a reason or not, I could use it to remind me to work towards the sweeter goals in life. I could look at it like a little guardian angel in the break room, made of cocoa and sugar.
I also realized for the sake of my own sanity that I should probably never skip lunch.*
*(And that I’m turning into Liz Lemon a little more every day.)