Derailed Pie

It is amazing to me how little it takes to throw me off. As an example, I had planned to work on my paper last night. No, not the paper, but another one of the seemingly endless essays that my english professor seems to feel the need to inflict on me. (The auto-correction feature is telling me that I misspelled english and misspelled, which is pretty effing hilarious. And I misspelled effing. Nice.) See, right there, I was thrown off of my original train of thought onto a different one, speeding off into a new and exciting direction. I am not sure how I knew that it was exciting, but we can just call it a hunch and let it go.

Ok, back to last night. (How the hell can this thing say that I misspelled ok?) I was ready to work on my paper. Had everything ready to go. I just needed to one thing that I had been craving all night. A few days ago Prof and Steph took me to Marie Callenders for dinner. It was delicious. For the road we all picked up some pie, and I got me some chocolate cream, pie that is. Took it home, put it in the fridge and went to bed. A couple days later, or last night, and it was on my mind all day. I have no idea why, but it was.

So I get to the fridge, and it is not there. Puzzled, I search again. I move everything, even things that it could not be behind. I figure that Dave would not have eaten it, as it was not his. With only one other option, I head over to his room and ask the new guy if he had seen my pie. (Translation: My pie is missing and I know that you ate it. Oh, and I am pissed off about it. Just an fyi.) He had in fact seen it, seeing as how he had eaten it. Frustrated yet again, this time by my roommates disarming tact of telling the truth, I headed back to my paper.

Sitting at the table, I realized that I was not going to be able to work on it at all. I really, really wanted that pie. In fact, I still do. I finished my paper tonight, and it is ready to go. But I am still left with this craving for pie. Aargh!

The next problem will be when I get the pie and it is not even close to being good enough to cause this much annoyance. I did not have it in me to ask my roommate if it had been a good pie. I bet it was. I bet that piece was better than any piece of pie that I will ever get to eat. Ever. It is like a damn metaphor for something or other. Like life, or something. I do not even know. I just know that I want pie.