The Cake Conspiracy

Ah, those days. When there is no particular tragic incident, but an aggregate of petty annoyances. You can't get mad at any one thing in particular, so you're just sour at life. Today was one of those days. There were cancelled and missed classes, the rag, foul weather, a payment snafu at work, a knee that decided it was 80, and a broken mixing bowl. I figured these were but petty annoyances, and plastered joy on my face, but one person said that I looked sick and another asked if something was wrong because I wasn't "my usual peppy self."

Acting is clearly not an alternative career choice. 

After all of this, I figured I earned one of the Hostess cupcakes Katie gave to me, mystery ingredients be damned. I opened the packaging only to be assaulted by the stench of the grave, because half of the damned thing was moldy. The half I saw in the box? Pristine. The other half? Like something from a j-horror film. What the hell? Aren't Hostess treats, cockroaches and Keith Richards supposed to be the only things left after a nuclear blast? Are all of the truths I clung so faithfully to false? Apparently, so. And all the time, my rational mind was imploring my emotional side not to think of the moldy cupcake as a metaphor for my life, because that is just silly and I have lots of good things going on, which didn't matter anyways because my emotional side is louder and was screaming that "This cupcake represents my liiiiiiiiiiife!" I have calmed down and become more rational, but am off the baked good for a few days at least.