In lieu of an actual 'Fess Up, I offer something tangential - which is the way I function, really.
Several years back I was at the supermarket with my friend, Ana. A couple of us arranged for a movie marathon at her place and we swung by the supermarket for provisions. We were paying at the cashier, when Ana, looking through our purchases, expressed her surprise that I did not pick up any snacks for myself.
"Don't you eat?" she exclaimed, totally baffled.
"I eat," I replied.
"Just three square meals? No snacks? No junk food? Are you on some kind of diet? Are you anorexic?"
"I do eat."
"Do you know in all the time I've known you, I have never seen you eat, ever?"
"I eat," I insisted.
This minor episode found its way into my story about existential rock-star vampires. One of the character, Seth, would remark to a mysterious woman in leather jacket and sunglasses, that he has never seen her eat. Ever.
The mysterious woman in the leather jacket and sunglasses, who goes by the name, Noir, would reply matter of factly, "I eat."
Later in story, Seth and his friends would be attacked by two goth-punks infected by vampiric blood. Noir would tear through the throats of those goth-punks, and she would feed on their blood. Right before she collapses from her injuries, she would turn to Seth, and she would say to him:
"Told you I eat."
Which says something about how all the little things in our lives are fodder for fiction.
By the way, I did not work on my story about the sous-chef this week. Instead, I revisited one of my old stories, the one about the existential vampires (with the awful working title: "Orpheus Sings the Guitar Electric". Now you know the source behind the name of this blog)
I was in a morose state of mind the whole week, which is exactly the state of mind that would want to write a story about angsty vampires who also happen to be rock-gods. Since we are throwing in random information: the Dark Orpheus is actually a prized guitar used by one of the characters in the story.
Which might also tell you something.