|This is Love of Sugar, From a Writer
Author: Sukiam6 PM
My take on sugar addiction. "...with hazy eyes constantly peering up to the sky did the writer whose life was imbued with so much promise amble about in her sugar slump, her craze. How cloudy can the mind be bended, and how sweet clouds will taste..."Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Parody/Angst - Words: 726 - Published: 05-04-10 - Status: Complete - id: 2803730
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
This is Love of Sugar, From a Writer
Cannot it not be inevitable, the woe, ruin, rise, and run of one with a sweet tooth. A writer, that is, with a sweet tooth.
Not only addicted to the abominable entity sugar and its heroin-like high, but to the by-products of dependency does this writer thrive. From the summit of grand thoughts and apex of mighty intrigues to the slimy meniscus of a sallow idea and dirty underbelly of fifthly beasts, did the writer indulge in the passions and rages that threaded her along a path crystallized in sugar dreams and sweet slumbers of inactivity. Oh, with hazy eyes constantly peering up to the sky did the writer whose life was imbued with so much promise amble about in her sugar slump, her craze. How cloudy can the mind be bended, and how sweet clouds will taste to the bended mind!
Sitting on her chair, quite comfortable it was mind you, did she laze a little on a Saturday morning wondering with fragmented lucidity where her wares of the mind and used-not talent would take her in the future. How would the proceeding moment be affectedly by her full-conscious addiction to the only seemingly salvageable and readily enjoyable pleasure for the moment. Where would life take her? Would not absolute woe and ruin be the only ending to this poor thing's story, if not her addiction be promptly vanquished and done away with? The moments did tick and as she thought she indulged again on sugary cereal, and when she thought again later in the day it was yellow sticky corn muffins and again during the night, when sweet breads accompanied dinner and ice cream for the aftermath and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for the midnight run, the haze did come again and again and once again the writer with so much promise for the world was lost.
Or, perhaps not. Sitting on her chair, which was rather comfortable as it was gray, she thought. What possibility in this world of so many things, imagine, to at once be able to grasp it in its entirety, what bliss! What unimaginable pleasure it must be to go about with life without being self conscious at every step one took, without caring so much about sugar and its sentiment. Life was only around the corner and yet she could not grasp it no matter how much she wanted it, and yes, she would admit, she wanted it greatly and at the same time, she had not had it! It simply must be had, yet she knew fully that it simply could not be had while in a sugar frenzy, in a sugar haze or slump or slumber! But, oh! What agony it was to give up the things one loves. What agony and hard work was it to be constantly reminded of this world and its harshness. The temptation of sugary treat was at once heavenly and comforting. So quick it was such a quick fix to one's woes. But long term pleasure, did she not read it, long term pleasure was scores better than immediate high, was it not scores better? And what of jealousy of those who had not her problem; and what tremendous pity that she shares with those that did. There was no pleasure in pity, there was only pleasure in replete satisfaction, which she would will, must be had for the future! And, yes! It would be beheld, it had to be had and no sugar would stop her from it. Away with sad life! Away with these sad depressions and these strange bouts of confusion, with these strange, sad thoughts and these sad, strange condolences and talks of pity and such. No more, away with it all! Away with the sugar, and no more. Simply was this the inevitable fact.
Cannot not it be inevitable the wonderful bliss that follows determination and will at work. The great things that are to be accomplished, the wonderful blissful items to behold. This world in its grand possibility will never match the promise of a writer who writes outside their haze, and readily so. Life will be readily accessible and sweet, and nothing, not friend or foe or family will stand in the way to one's blissful future.