With more than a week to think about things, all I have to say is that I’m glad one of the worst days of the year has passed.

I hate the first day of November.

This has nothing to do with the beginning of fall or the impending end of football season. This dislike of Nov. 1 actually focuses on something I love very much: candy.

Over the past six months or so, I have tried to exhibit some sort of discipline when it comes to the sweet stuff. I used to keep a jar of treats near my desk for visitors, but realized that I was the one dipping my hand in it the most.

So I got rid of those empty calories and bought some healthier snacks. I’ll still indulge when people bring in something special. I just try not to have that every day temptation around.

But things totally changed on Nov. 1. Since Halloween fell on a Sunday this year, that meant workplaces everywhere – especially my office – had an influx of leftover candy come Monday morning.

A co-worker came in first thing in the morning and filled my old candy jar with Whoppers. Then someone else came in with a huge bag of leftover candy. I had to get away.

I walked over to another department, but they had chocolate covered rains and a small bowl of Hershey’s Miniatures. I could not get away from the stuff.

I had this gnawing feeling inside of me. I could not get over the fact that I walk every year all over the neighborhood during trick or treat and come away with nothing. Well, I think I bummed a Tootsie Roll from my daughter this year, but other wise, I fared about as well as Charlie Brown did. Except he actually got some rocks.

Just when I think I have gotten over being stiffed at Trick or Treat, Monday comes and the candy stares me right in the face, especially the big bag. I had to walk by its location probably once an hour as I went to visit the men’s room, grabbed something for the copier or just got up to get another piece of candy because, when it comes down to it, I have no will power.

This doesn’t really count, I rationalized after the first piece. It’s just a very small Twix. Hardly even needed to chew it up, it’s so small, I told myself as I grabbed a package of Whoppers and sat down at my desk. The package only had three, I told myself as I went to the copier and grabbed some peanut M&Ms because there only seemed to be one or two packages left, and I didn’t want to miss out on those.

I’m stunned no one found me collapsed on my keyboard at the end of the day, the victim of a painful sugar crash.

So I need to remember this lesson next year. I need to steel myself against temptation. I need to bring in some healthy snacks to tide me over.

Who am I kidding? I need to call in sick. That’s the only way I can manage to survive this horrible tradition.