A Non-Exaggeration.

It was 8 PM tonight, and I was going to make myself some cocoa, paint my toenails, and go to bed early because I've had a splitting headache all day long.

I was sitting there on my bathroom counter, painting my toenails a sparkly shade of dark purple, and listening to Celine Dion because it has indubitably been one of those days when the only thing that makes honest sense is to drown yourself in a lack-of-sleep-induced Celine Dion comatose.
I think I've heard Only One Road 8 times today. I'm not exaggerating.

Anyways, I was sitting there, wriggling my toes around in an effort to dry them, and slowly sipping on a delicious cup of hot cocoa.
There's a delirious sort of magic about cocoa that I haven't quite figured out yet. It sort of muddles together all conscious thought and feeling into one giant mess of comfort and a incredible desire, nay, need of two things: to revert to childhood, or to be cuddled in a way that is unrivalled by any cuddle you've had before in your life.
Like I said, I don't pretend to understand it. That's just how it is.
It completely envelops you, and at the same time, leaves you feeling so incredibly hollow and empty, it's almost unbearable. Until, that is, you take the next sip and then you're overcome in an overwhelming haze of bliss and liquid, chocolatey perfection.
When you're having one of these days, when you depend solely on a cup of cocoa for imminent survival, the last thing on earth that you could possibly handle would be to somehow lose that single cup of cocoa.

Guess what happened to me?

In a twisted, contorted sort of effort to reach behind me and grab my ipod dock to set on my lap so I could switch the song, I clumsily knocked over my steaming cup of happiness and spilled it all over the bathroom counter.
I'm surprised I didn't burst into a fountain of tired tears right then.
No, instead I said a few choice words, shook my head in angry disbelief and jerkily started to clean it up with tense, frustrated movements. That was the last chance at comfort I had before I planned to sleep away my day of screaming headaches and pre-meditated muteness!!! And no, of course I was not about to go down and make myself another cup. First of all, I didn't want a WHOLE new cup of cocoa. I had drank half of that and was only wanting another half a cup. Second of all, I didn't want any OTHER half-cup of cocoa, I wanted THAT one, the one that was currently flowing in a torrent over the bathroom counter tile and into a pool at the bottom of the porcelain sink. Cursing the world and, in turn, every single belligerent cup of cocoa out there, I switched off the bathroom light, grabbed the ipod and stomped my way into my room; pausing my pity-party fit only to pick a song that I felt was worthy enough to witness my childish tantrum, I parked my butt in my deskchair and proceeded straight here.
With Bon Jovi's "Lie to Me" playing on repeat for the 7th time.
..... 8th time.

And now, I'm tired and upset and cocoa-less and my headache is still pounding against my temple mercilessly.

At least my toes look cute.