I Got Evidence

I enter my home office each morning and head to my computer,
curious to explore what my life has in store on this new day.
But before I tether myself to the MacBook Air,
I am always greeted by the evidence,
remnants of the debauchery of the night before.

Okay, debauchery is a strong term for what I see
(In reality, I lead a very undebauched life.)
There, staring at me is the empty bowl that held the salty potato sticks
I simply had to have at 10 the previous evening to satisfy my munchie compulsion
and to keep me from nodding off in the midst of some trivial Netflix thing
I was also bingeing on.
I hate to doze off and then have to rewind to find the place where I entered dreamland.
So, the potato sticks with their salt and crunch kept me focused.
Ridiculous, right?

Then I witness, crumpled in the post potato stick bowl, the empty wrapper of the
Peppermint Patty (not the big one, not the tiny one, the perfect mid-sized version)
which adds just the right touch of sweetness after the salty.
There’s method to my madness.

Yes, I am a salt/sweet late night snacker.
It is totally out of my control.
Is there a potato stick/peppermint patty anonymous group I can join?
Everyday I say: not tonight, but every night I seem to think: there is always tomorrow.

I wouldn’t even recall this slip of self-control if not for the evidence that sits before me; like a body camera leaves undeniable images.
At the very least, I could clear up the detritus at night
and not have to relive my night-time obsession in the morning.
Shame, shame it calls out to me
But not enough shame to stop the very same behavior some 12 hours later.

The menu changes depending on what I can find burrowing in my pantry or fridge.
There was a serious issue with the left-over hot fudge
from Jesse’s make-your-own-ice cream-sundae birthday celebration.
I should have trashed it, but I just couldn’t.
For nights, it was the hot fudge calling from the kitchen while I was pretending to be
fully engrossed in whatever series someone said I simply had to watch.

No, no, don’t do it….. Oh, just a little taste.
Picture me sneaking into the fridge in my own kitchen
whilst the rest of the household is peacefully in REM
to grab a spoon and dip it into the jar of hot fudge which is not even hot.
Cold, hot fudge straight outta the jar.

A little bit o’ heaven….. or hell.