Well, that’s a misnomer because the candy whereof I speak has nothing to do with Easter and more to do with my husband’s well-placed fear of what I would be like without easy access to chocolate and caffeine and crap these last few weeks. Finishing up the latter half of the Insiders’ Guide to Richmond–due tomorrow–has been a series of days and nights of sitting here and getting up to walk into the kitchen to eat chocolate and then coming back usually with a piece or two to keep me company. It’s not pretty, but it’s effective.  

Survival of the grossest.

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