Stockpiled before me are a number of vices. Junk food, beer, video games, internet. They’re staring at me, I’m staring right back at them. Exhausting week, a cleared schedule, and some alone time; advantage: vices. “You don’t have to do this You don’t have to succumb. Don’t let them drag you down.” begs my conscience. The urges, though, they scoff. There’s more than one urge there and they are armed with resolve. Resolve and pipe wrenches.
It’s only a matter of time.
If things should go wrong, tell responsibility I love her. I love her and I’m sorry.