Through ten cigarettes, six cups of coffee, four loads of laundry, three diaper changes and one story, the desire to submit raged on. I tried to stay busy. I considered just throwing it away, but I couldn’t resist a set-up, even if it was self-imposed.
Afterwards, I avoided looking at the carnage. The only bread in the house had been an ornery rind of sourdough, which was cast aside in favor of a tablespoon. I feel sick now, ashamed because I just couldn't fight the urge to polish off that beautiful half-full jar of Nutella with my bare hands.
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