A purple rock ended up on my desk. It was very small, about the size of my finger from the last knuckle to the tip, as well as being bright and shiny. Being that I am a compulsive fiddler (not to be confused with someone who actually knows how to use a fiddle) I constantly played with the rock, rubbing it between my hands, tossing it, turning it, and polishing it. I would regularly tap it against my lip or chin while thinking about my writing or while reading online.
After a short while the rock began to invade my thoughts. I worried that I would accidentally end up swallowing it and choke on the rock and die. My imagination wound up being very concerned with whether or not I could give myself the Heimlich maneuver in order to dislodge a rock from my windpipe. I wondered if I dialed 911 but could not talk if they would show up and save me or just ignore it. There were moments of hilarity where I thought about people hearing the news of my death and the confusion when everyone wondered how the hell I choked to death on a small purple rock while sitting at my computer desk.
I threw the rock in the garbage. Now it is gone. I don't have a purple rock to play with anymore but I no longer have any worries about accidentally putting a rock in my mouth and dying. This is strange since there are lots of rocks of virtually identical sizes sitting in the plant pots within my reach as I write this; I could very easily start fiddling with one of them but for some unknown reason I do not do this. Apparently my strange little episode with obsession over a rock is done and I am back to fiddling with pens again.
People are really weird.