They do not care about me, why I am I pouring myself so hard into something that doesn’t even pretend to want to provide a return on that investment. I will just spill, like chocolate milk, all over the floor, surrounding an unapologetic cup, pooling onto an utterly apathetic countertop and dripping onto an impossibly far away floor. To be wiped up by a a sympathetic, but final kitchen rag and washed away when whatever is watching all of this finds it convenient.