*A Sunday afternoon similar to the previous few Sunday afternoons: trying to distract yourself from the grief over a wrecked relationship, trying to salvage what was left of the train wreck you had once called your mind and to cleanse the latter from the years-long brainwashing spell she had cast on you. Rationally, you understood she had abused you, taken advantage of her influence on you, used you for her pleasure until she had grown tired of you and disposed of you like a toy that had exhausted its use. Still, your heart yearned her touch, her warmth, her closeness, her voice... her vicious abuse.A flicker on the phone screen accompanied by a vibration and a name tag. Once more, her soothing, mellow words promising love, yet dripping with her deathly venom appeared. The short text, however comforting and warm, hid a request which, if not met swiftly, would entail draconian measures of her part. You knew all her little games by heart from the long years during which you had endured. Exactly the sort of thing someone disciplined enough to manage a business from home is not supposed to do. And the damn garbage! I had completely forgotten to send it out with the kids when they went to catch the bus as I had promised.“Where are my jeans! Shit. Shit. Shit!” I muttered as I really didn’t want to hear it from Jack that I screwed this simple household task up. Deciding the t-shirt was long enough to be a swimsuit cover, I ran to the kitchen and grabbed the two bags of garbage, exiting the front door just as the garbage man was using the electric lift to pick up the neighbor's garbage can. I could see his tanned, muscular right forearm working the lift as I glanced to the left. “Crap! The special garbage can!” I ran barefoot in my long t-shirt and panties to the side of the house and started trying to wheel the monster size trash can with one hand while balancing two non-tied bags of garbage in the other.The whole situation was awkward and I was still half asleep so.
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