Not a Good Sign.
Work has been INSANE. Insane in that way that keeps you busy all day long, all night long, and has you dreaming about things that you need to do the next day. Or even dreaming that you're accomplishing certain work tasks, making you startled when you arrive to work the next day and realize that you didn't actually write the column, but instead just dreamt about writing it.
And this level of Ahhhhhhh! warrants a chocolate fix.
So I wandered over to the dLife chocolate stash (usually cleaned out by interns, but since they are all back to college, there are finally some tasty morsels for the rest of us). I reached into the bag and pulled out a Hershey Kiss.
Walked back to my desk. Poked my head into my boss's office to touch base on something briefly. Back at my desk, I was about to unwrap the Kiss. No, I wasn't low. I just wanted some damn chocolate. I didn't feel guilty or anything.
Until I noticed:
What kind of sadistic bastards are working at the Hershey factory? And why are they taunting me?