out with the old (milk)

I’ve never been good at ending things. Even when I know it’s coming..like I can see the train headed straight toward me and I can clearly see the end…and I have every opportunity to gracefully step off the tracks…but I don’t do it.

I cling to the nostalgia of it all…like with milk…I mean.

Me and the milk totally bonded over cornflakes last week, you know. It fortified me. It’s hard to accept that the milk has changed…that now it’s no longer the same milk; now we are so different and the mere smell of it repels me. I mean, we had so little in common before and now, there’s just…nothing. Milk turned.

But I still couldn’t just end things…

So I let the milk exceed its useful life. I let it take up space in my world longer than it should because I was just-so-sure it would be good for a few days past the expiration date.

Well, more than a few days has come and gone. And I’m still hanging on…

I hate that. Because I truly know that space in our refrigerator is precious. It’s valuable. The refrigerator is valuable.

But I do it. Every time. I hang on and I let milk wear me down…until I just can’t take it anymore! I go out and buy new milk because I want cereal! I want to be healthy!

And at first I try to ignore the old milk, but the old milk won’t go away quietly…it stays planted. In the refrigerator. Taking up valuable space. Forcing me to confront it, and throw it away.

And then I become that ugly ex-friend-of-milk who ended things ungraciously because she didn’t step off of the tracks when she saw the train coming in the first place.

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