Today's poem brought to you by my insulin fit

Timbit, my chocolate Timbit, you
increase my blood sugar during its afternoon dip;
effectively replacing what would, in other countries, be a siesta.
I relish your sweet, sugary, chocolaty goodness and ponder:
is there anything stuck in my teeth?
Someone suggested a healthier option, almonds perhaps? A sliver of cheese? An anjou pear?
"Eat me," I replied. And then I ate you.

Is it totally evident I'm screwing the pooch today? I'd feel bad except C emailed me yesterday around noon that he and his work were going to Nat Bailey to see a baseball game. My boss is at the gym. The CFO came in with a monstrous hangover and left to "work from home" around 11. Yeah. No regrets.