I have a scone, therefore I am...

I have had... am having... a bizarrely existential morning.

I woke up with a desire to have coffee. By itself this is not particularly unusual, as most of my mornings have 'get out of bed-shower-dress-coffee' as the primary script call sequence to satisfy the prerequisite requirements to meet the conditions for 'wake up'. Today, however, the coffee at home was insufficient to perk my interest (those of you old enough, see what I did there?). So I hauled my pre-woken self to the place where coffee is dispensed with the digital promise of payment. (The 'digital promise of payment' really does sometimes smack of sorcery and other times seems perfectly rational, but that is probably an entirely different discussion.)

(For the curious, the digitally promised coffee was in fact provided. It was warm, brown, and delicious and was consumed with all the relish it deserved. This is not directly pertinent to my story, but it seems fair to share the facts of this liquid joy as coffee has figured so prominently in the setup for something not actually dependent upon the dispensation of the coffee.)

So, the crux of our existential morning.

While standing and waiting to request my cup of warm happiness I found a shelf with scones before my eyes. Now, I already had a breakfast bar - granola, chocolate, cherries - to have for food as an extraneous supplement to coffee in the waking process. "Scones," I thought, "are good." At least, I assume I had such a thought - first because, well, it is a true statement, and second it seems a cranberry-orange scone was handed to me with my cup of coffee (also with my sorcerous promise of payment). I know the second item is true because as I exited my car upon arriving at work I found... a cranberry-orange scone sitting with my belongings to carry into work.

So now I am sitting at my desk. Beside me - a cranberry-orange scone. And I am left only with questions:

• Do I now truly want the scone?
• Will my morning be complete without the scone?
• Perhaps better asked, will there be a butterfly effect from the scone? A Scone Effect, as it were, the consumption of the scone changing the arc of my morning and life into a a parallel temporal timeline different ever so slightly from the timeline I would leave behind just slightly out of phase wherein I did not consume this scone....
• Were their other flavors of scone on that shelf which I passed over, and may have appealed more now that I sit here with scone doubts?
• Who first thought, 'cranberries and orange need to be blended as flavor partners within a scone'?
• Did I actually voice my desire for a scone, and the dutiful employee responded to provide it, or did somehow my unspoken and unconscious mind simply convey the desire so strongly that... no, best not go there...