The Great Good Grief Offensive

Dear Heyspace,

Here to say good grief, really, my, my, my, what a conundrum we've contended. In all manner of asanine zeal and covetous lust another sort of little bitty but all so bothersome bootshackle bumbled its way into the gears of the so taciturn warbling woodwork of my weekend whatnots and whereabouts. And oh, to my consternation, all futility of blame withstanding, had I no one to blame but I myself alone for such betwixt bearings of copious cuppboards. Indeed, my cupoboards grew to surfeit of sweets and most undesirable snacks. An egregious carrot cake, a plentiful pile of pilaf, an importuning pastichio, loads of low grade licorice, and a mendaciously magnanimous box of maple cookies, alongside some bastard bananas so booted from their bunches to my countertop, did find their way by foible into my kitchen cuppboards. And I really did think long and hard of how to best resolve them, you know, in the interest of taking responsibility for my actions, you know. To gobble them up and get them gone with guilt? To trash them in tyranny and condemn them so trite? To have the strength to sustain amidst them and be unassumed by some sorry sentiment altogether, and have patience to pay mind to my palate's pinings? Good grief, and my, my, my, I could so not decide, and it so seemed each supportive avenue of thought fed right into the contradiction of its adjacent just oh so maddeningly. So, when confronted with such a tri-pronged weapon to my throat, and the desired outcome one of two binary choices to keep or forgo such surfeitous snacks, I knew my best bet was to stare monocular down all three shafts. I indeed most compulsively, tyranically trashed the egregious carrot cake and plentiful pile of pilaf, gobbled down a few loads of low grade licorice and mendaciously magnanimous maple cookies, and the bastard bananas, then took to a mortar with the residual licorice and cookies and mashed them to bits before mixing them with most earnest soil and paper scraps and leaving them out to compost. Now, indeed, after much consternation had been contended, the conundrum has been compromised by an open minded and flexible approach. Good grief, and a my, my, my, I should hope I have learned well my lesson with the obliging generosities of good willed loved ones. Indeed it is so often we have the hardest time expressing our love and gratitude without some servile, facile, material intermediary contrived by our own judgments of the tastes of our adoreds. Oh, indeed, good grief, for grief is but love that has seemed to run a dead end along its chosen avenue of song soothed sashaying, and only with the most good of intentions was I gifted such a generous trove of sweets, so sweetly, you know. But some of the worst things, perhaps, can be done with the best of intentions. Just look at what happened at Jurassic Park, for good grief's sake. Oh, my, my, my, if only I had a pet brontosaurus in dire need of a mid-day snack. In all cases squander has been considered a sin, assiduousness has been recognized of imperative importance, balance has been known a holding of the strong, and love has been loved. And now to do my best with all the daredevil trapeze act gigs I've scheduled. 

Best Regards,