The Sugar Egg

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It is a good idea to take a little break before my eyes leak.

My eyes have had enough damage this morning.  I somehow, after a year and three months of banging them about and dropping them from great heights onto the pavement and generally being a careless bint with them, flipped my arm out during the night and cracked my glasses in two.  I’m not entirely sure how it happened, but I looked down and I essentially had two monocles mounted on individual sticks.  Like a lollipop for one eyeball at a time.  Something. You know what I mean, I’m sure.  Much consternation and despair churned up as a result of this, but otherwise, it’s been a fairly pleasant workday.
I have spent it googling local bakeries and dessert-making companies.  It’s dizzying to think of all of these people deciding to help, but really, I have to generate a pretty wide net in hopes of collecting a few sugary fishies.  It has made me think about a lot of things…needing to develop leadership skills so I can take on this vision I’m starting to build for this event and for my purpose in this job and for finding joy and accepting the adulthood everyone else sees in me.
….
Then, the childhood I see in myself.  The little sister and her boyfriend and I went to see Rifftrax Live: Santa Claus.  It was funny, it was charming, leavening for myself and I think they enjoyed it.   I thought about you and how, from my far-distant valley, I imagined you would be the perfect person to go to something like that with.  I wouldn’t be the third wheel or the ambassador to geek culture, we’d just be geeks together.
But on the way back, we ended up so busy talking about when we would help put up the tree for my parents and what roles we all have and not arguing or bickering, but I was minutely aware that she was feeling put upon for this task even if I’d argue that she has always been hot to trot when it came to getting everything decorated for the holidays.  It is what she’s chosen to do with her life.  I don’t know for sure, but we started talking about the sugar eggs in the short.  I was given one as a child, with my name piped in icing spelled incorrectly like it often was, from someone who made them for a friend’s mother and somehow, I think, they decided I was sufficiently interested.  I know we had another one at some point, a molded sugar egg that had a hole on one end and like Jud Fry’s Little Wonder, a picture when you gazed within.  Not a switchblade, either nor any dirty cheesecake smut for the image, probably a little bunny rabbit.  But as we were talking, we realized that both of us, on separate occasions, licked that thing.
We laughed so much she missed the turn off the highway and we had to double back around.

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