Last week I posted the following to my Facebook timeline:
I learned last month—and only now have recovered enough to speak of it—that my story was not selected for inclusion in a collection I’d submitted to. The odds were high enough against me that, although the news affected me, it did not crush my spirit. I may, however, pretend it did so I’ll have an excuse for seeking out and indulging in a couple of pounds of serotonin-producing dark chocolate, plus a large box of sugar cubes to keep the bitterness of the chocolate from curdling my teeth.
So many friends responded with comments and emojis of such warmth and kindness that, in addition to thanking them—Thank you, friends—I feel I should add an update.
I did not seek out chocolate. For four whole days, I did not seek it out.
In fact, I forgot about it.
Forgot to seek. Forgot why I’d thought about seeking.
Forgot until today when David said, “What do you want from the grocery store?”
Oh, yes. “Chocolate.”
“No. Maybe a peanut butter cup . . . ”
Then, remembering that Easter is icumen in: “Or maybe a Cadbury egg. But,” I said, “one Cadbury egg won’t do.”
A single egg would have sent me flying across the green space in search of a follow-up.
I ate one. Then I ate another.
Two eggs for rejection of things past.
The rest I’ll polish off tomorrow, as a kind of insurance against rejection of things future.