(no subject)
I made hot chocolate this afternoon, and drank it while reading my new book.
Hot chocolate is a weird thing. It starts out deliciously wonderful, like sweet angels swimming down your throat. You think to yourself that nothing in the world is a better idea than this drink, at this time. But by the time you get to the bottom of the cup, it's only lukewarm, and it's more powdery than liquidy, sticking to your throat a bit too much, and you're not even sure why you're drinking this crap any longer.
I have yet to find that exact moment to stop, so as to take that last sip right before its delightfulness has been completely consumed, so as to rinse out my mug before I stop enjoying it.
(Some analogy to life is expected at this point, but is left as an exercise to the reader.)
((Oh, and why am I drinking hot chocolate in July? Because I'm a freak, of course.))
Hot chocolate is a weird thing. It starts out deliciously wonderful, like sweet angels swimming down your throat. You think to yourself that nothing in the world is a better idea than this drink, at this time. But by the time you get to the bottom of the cup, it's only lukewarm, and it's more powdery than liquidy, sticking to your throat a bit too much, and you're not even sure why you're drinking this crap any longer.
I have yet to find that exact moment to stop, so as to take that last sip right before its delightfulness has been completely consumed, so as to rinse out my mug before I stop enjoying it.
(Some analogy to life is expected at this point, but is left as an exercise to the reader.)
((Oh, and why am I drinking hot chocolate in July? Because I'm a freak, of course.))