Two days in a row, things have gotten stuck in the toaster. By things I mean, a piece of whole wheat raisin bread yesterday, and half an english muffin today. The raisin bread was a very thin little piece so I thought, okay, things get stuck. But it wouldn't come out. I turned the toaster over and banged it on the counter, thus spreading an enormous amount of bread crumbs that had been roosting in there. I unplugged the toaster and began jabbing at it with a fork, then a knife. I tried the usual you mother f*@cking toaster, and still, the bread was stuck. Eventually it came out, but in shreds. This was a piece of toast that had been mauled by someone who really wanted her carbs.
Anyway, the very same thing happened today with the half an english muffin, and I knew then. Actually, I knew when I went to get ice from the ice thing on the fridge and the ice wouldn't come out, until I opened the freezer door and a bucketful fell on the floor; I knew it wasn't my appliances. This stuck-ness had nothing to do with my toaster or refrigerator. The stuck-ness was in me. Full throttle.
I did scream. Loudly and profanely. Note to readers: it's a miracle that you haven't read any bad words, yet. I have a fondness for them, but have earnestly been trying to write without them. I'm not sure how long I can hold out. I think there's some box I'm supposed to check on this blog site, to alert people to bad word usage. Maybe I should've done that already?
Okay, so I'm stuck. The more I fight it, the deeper in the mud I sink. Some days, the best thing I can do is surrender.
Put the hammer down and walk away from the toaster.