It started out innocently enough. First it was once or twice a week. Then every other day. Pretty soon, it was every day, sometimes even in the morning. “I’ll just have a little bowl.” You know how the story goes, though. Pretty soon I was having seconds in that same little bowl. Then, I got a bigger bowl. And then I went to seconds in the big bowl (just a little more, Edy, please).
Now I’m scoring this shit in multiple half-gallon runs, hovering over the open carton with a fucking spoon.
I know, I know. You don't approve. It's a bad habit. But don't lecture me, man. Don't try to make me see what it's doing to me. Don’t give me all your advice about how I should try to kick with this shit.
It doesn’t work, I’ve already tried it.
And don’t even think of staging one of those 'interventions'. That will only make it worse.
Just leave us alone—I’m already too far gone. It’s just me and Edy.
She’s all I care about now.