It’s a low point for indulgence when you’ve only a handful of crème-egged sweets and mild temperatures left to work with. You should never mix your confectionary seasons anyway. It creates an unsettling cognitive dissonance. I don’t ever recall tucking into a chocolate Santa on Easter Sunday morning. But I wouldn’t be averse to the idea if it can be arranged.
It’s day two from my sick bed *back of hand to forehead for fever-check* so if there is a chocolate Santa within a 200m radius, I’ll have to eat it on the sly in case I trigger a downpour of doubts over my deteriorating condition. Namely, my internal dialogue. I’m nearing Ferris Bueller levels of voice recovery but I was left alone with my own thoughts for longer than what is normally tolerable and things have gotten slightly out of hand. I can only assume a similar outbreak of solitude led to the composition of the list below and other hallucinatory behaviour this time last year.
Turns out lying down is a popular yoga position in some cultures. Damn.
I fancy a black pen this year.