Her shoulders are hunched as she takes each knock-kneed baby step toward the kitchenette, using her french-manicured and liver-spotted hands to steady herself on any furniture she passes along the way. I offer to help, but no. She won't allow it. I sit back and send an email to work that I'll be late this… Continue reading Ritual
In a funky figure-eight of codependent narcissism, I get nothing out of it if they get nothing out of it, and since I want something out of it, I will damn well ensure they get something out of it.