My confession...

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I eat mealworms but only the little wiggly ones. They're sweet and crunchy as hell and I just can't get enough.

Or Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I'm in love! I have this crush on a certain man's writing style, humor and intelligence. He may be completely unsuitable for me in real life for whatever reasons, but I am dazzled by his charm and his stellar diction. My close friends don't know that he exists. What do you call it when we love everything on the inside of a person, but there are just too many physical and situational obstacles to ever start a relationship? Too many times I've lost my opportunities. Where's that fishing trip promised? When is that picnic we set? or What about that mountain hike? It didn't matter how these plans fell through; it was how he crafted the invitation, melt away!

Then again if the person's amazing writing personality turns out to be painfully shy in person (ahem!), it's still not gonna work out. For example, the greatest writers in history were demented (I'm sorry, 'were nuts?'). Ernest Hemingway was a violent drunk. Edgar Allen Poe was creepy. Nguyen Trai was a womanizer. Emily Dickinson was a recluse. I do like these writers. I dunno what I'm trying to say, but something sweet and crunchy sounds great just about now.