I thought I was cured.
I honestly thought so… After the bi-weekly counseling, the group meetings, the pills and the half dozen rubber bands on my wrist, I thought I was getting free from it. Free from him… OM.
I had tried my best not to visit his blog too often, and more specifically not click on any of those Daily Denver posts…
I fell… I failed. Again!
I thought one click wouldn’t matter. I thought I could just look, maybe leave a comment or a “like”, and close the window… No one harmed.
If only. But nooooo….
I should have known I was still too fragile to risk it, but I clicked here.
I was doomed.
I looked in my coin purse and checked if I had enough money left to succumb to a good Picture Battle…
I’m far from rich, but I could afford a candy bar, even if I had absolutely no interest in eating one… I could always share it later with a co-worker, or give it away.
I ran downstairs (well didn’t actually run, running in the building gets people to frown, or worry about fire or terrorist attacks or stuff like that) and visited the vending maching… Telling myself I could always just take a picture of the said candy bar without buying it, not that I am cheap, but…
And there it was, only the lonely, last bar standing. It seemed like a sign (of what? I don’t know, but a sign nonetheless)
I’m sorry about the blurry picture. I was febrile, and I might have been a little shaky.
I am a bit ashamed. I thought I was cured… I am not usually a competitive girl, but fighting OM is just a reflex now, I think.
And you know what? I even ate it!
Bad OM… Bad evil man!!