On Tuesday, Margaret told me she liked the little oranges with the seeds better than the ones I bought. I hated her for that.
I'm ridiculous.
So I found a jar of peanut butter and pickles (pre-packed) and prepared it for lunch. She liked that better than the sandwiches I didn't prepare. I loved her for that.
I'm ridiculous.
They were all the same, I decided.
Love, hate. There's no difference, so I tried ambivalence. I found that to be the same, too.
The lemon sherbet that melted all over the counter was the last straw. She told me that my depression was something I needed to see a dentist about. So I got help. After feeling nothing for so long, feeling sad about special, hard-to-find lemon sherbet, was finally what I needed to start caring again.
