I have never before experienced a Valentine’s Day that left me as devastated and destroyed as I am right now. I’m absolutely beside myself. I don’t know how it all went so wrong. I obviously shouldn’t have put it all out there, leaving myself as vulnerable as I did. If I had been smart and guarded myself like usual, I probably wouldn’t be suffering through this excruciating, gut-wrenching, and miserable heart
ache burn that I am now. I obviously ate far too much candy.
Until this morning I didn’t know one could suffer from a candy hangover, but you can and I wouldn’t put this on my worst enemy. I feel like I’m having, making, made, remaking—whatever—a high fructose corn syrup baby deep in the recesses of my stomach and if I breathe too fast, I risk giving birth. Conversely, if I cough too deep, I face the same risk. Like an alcohol-induced hangover, I am filled with regret and worry over the events of yesterday. My anxiety level is an 11 but the only thing I can sweet, oops, I mean sweat out, is sugar. I am in hell and this misery shows no signs of abating.
I shouldn’t be surprised … I knew I came in too hot yesterday with the candy binging. I’ve finally pieced things together, to the extent I am able, and the picture I’m getting is one of sugary regret. In honor of Pie Chart Friday (but because I can’t think about pie without nearly vomiting), here is a non-pie chart breakdown of the mess that was my Valentine’s Day and the corresponding level of regret that I feel (on a scale of 1 to 10 because this one doesn’t go to 11). Coincidentally, the level of regret is directly proportional to the strength of the gag reflex I experience when thinking about each binging mouthful.
You must be disgusted. Don’t worry—I would be too if I wasn’t already disgusting.