I have a fight with my boyfriend. When my glass is full, I’m always the last to know it’s up to the brim, waiting for one last drop to send me over the edge. Although some might say I go looking for it.
In this particular case, being out of work has left me predisposed. Add to that a summer cold that’s been dragging on for days. Then my son, lying prostrate on my bed, pronounces he’s overwhelmed with summer school; that math is hard. As I move to berate him, I spot tears in his eyes. He does not cry easily and now I hate that he’s hurting.
100 Crunches 