Surrender, and don't give yourself away

Gloomy, post-snow pervasiveness: it's everywhere: outside my window, in my bones, my heart, my thoughts, the music I'm listening to, the news I heard: every where. I'm riding with it and it's not so bad; this type of day is good for the soul, though it would appear to be otherwise. I do hope, though, that I see the Sun in both the literal and metaphorical sense sometime soon. That is even better for the soul.

The drain in our tub is so clogged up now, it's belched up enough filthy water to make the tub, once a haven of cleanliness, a virtual cesspool. No showers for me until that problem is corrected. I called Marie, our landlord, yesterday and told her about the problem. After the mandatory twenty-plus minutes of strange, arbitrary small-talk from Marie (she lives by herself and I suspect she doesn't have much contact with the world at large), I was a little more hopeful that I'd be taking showers again sometime in the near future.
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I bought a Drake's apple pie at the White Hen last night and taped it to the refrigerator door. The idea was to see how long it would remain there, whether someone, namely Kreg, would be able to resist the sweet temptation the pie presented. Kreg was informed of the plan--he was there when I bought it--and I was convinced, even though Kreg had already let on that he'd stacked up on snacks already, that I'd come down in the morning and find the pie gone.

To my chagrin, the pie was still on the fridge when I awoke this morning. I'd been anticipating, like a child who leaves out cookies for Santa Claus, evidence of some after-hours dessert mischief in the kitchen. No, Kreg never heeded the Siren's call of the Drake's apple pie. Apparently, he had other sweet delights stashed in his room to occupy his time. But will he be able to resist the impulse to sink his choppers into the pie tonight, now that he's already consumed his stockpile of cookies, candy bars, and who knows what else? I hope not. God, I hope not.