Long lost was the cap to the toothpaste, down the spiral of the drain and lodged against the honed steel fang of the garbage disposal. Demise awaits, nibbling the tips-o-me-fingers as I crammed the straining stubbies into its orifice, the rubber apron lips a minute obstacle to an impending view of destruction. Contemplating suicide the hard way one must if it is to be at the hands of a disposal; or at the very least a lot of determination. Its hardly a run and jump in proposal, more of a agonizing chipping away at one’s limb and because of the absurdness of it all why am I cringing whilst my fingers are interned below? I am in my apartment all alone, the switch to power up the carnage is a foot away, yet here I am expecting the machine to turn on by itself and decapitate my happy digits from me arm. I can only guess that it is a trust issue, but just where, who and what this distrust is aimed at I really do not know.