Confessions of a chocoholic

If you think I'm kidding, I'm not. It's like when I told my Orientation kids over the summer that the campus squirrels were to be feared. They laughed. I told them to laugh it up, because it's all fun and games until somebody finds a squirrel in their pizza box. That's not funny. In college, we actually call that being hungry. I know hungry and funny sound kind of the same, but they're not.

So really, I do have a problem. I am, most definitely, a chocoholic. And it's serious.

It used to be not such a big deal. I liked chocolate as much as the next person, some m'n'ms here and there, maybe a Snickers bar if I was feeling particularly needy - normal chocolate consumption. And I didn't even like chocolate cake, so that particular evil was eliminated, too. And I went through a time where I didn't eat any chocolate at all - none. It just sat on the shelf, that chocolate did, and cried sad chocolate tears because I was off at the gym or finding a cure for cancer or watching "The Bachelor" - you know, important things.

But now, something ugly has reared it's head inside of me, and the only thing that will silence it is MORE CHOCOLATE! Well, that and MORE COWBELL!, but I don't have a cowbell, so the chocolate will have to do. I don't know what to do about it. Every meal I eat has to end with a dessert of chocolate - I kid you not, I ate a bagel and a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup for breakfast this morning. You can judge me later.

Short of getting rid of all the chocolate in my sight (of which there is plenty) I just don't know how to beat my addiction. I've already looked into a 12-Step, but they meet at Cold Stone Creamery, so I don't know how effective that would be.

Maybe I'll give it to the squirrels?