Wail wail wail wail wail wail wail wail wail wail, shut the fuck up. I hate you. Did you know that? You come to me at night. In the day. In the evening when I bake bread. You infest my yeast. Grow into my hatred. I eat it. You wail in me once more.

    The bread I bake was a very loving one. Really. Things would’t have happened if it wasn’t for you. Every single microcosm was in harmony. The water I poured into it, the flour I rolled into it, the vanillin I playfully added into it. Not to mention some sugar and spice to make everything nice.

    I loved it. It was my love. Never mind your definition of love. All I knew was that it was a lot like love.

    Until you came in. Your little colony of fungus made those little green monsters poking out here and then. It was odd. Usually if a baker were to spend more time with the bread, nothing like fungus would have appeared. It was only when the bread was left alone for a period too long, then you fucking annoying fungus would appear.

    But I did not. Damn it, I did not. I spent a lot of time and effort into making beautiful god-forbidden bread. Of course I don’t spend my living into taking care of that bread. I have a life too. I’m not a full time baker. I have to work and study and care for everything else other than the damn bread in my life. The bread is my priority. But I have other priorities as well. I balanced it all out.

    I did. I really did. I am only a freelance baker after all.

    Like every other bakers.

    Oh right. I forgot. All freelance bakers have partners. Like I said, the bread can’t be left alone for too long.

    Where is my partner?

    Where were my partners?

    I guess they left me to do the job.

    All alone.

    To care for a stupid bread.

    No wonder you always showed up. And fucked up my bread.

    I guess I’ll just wait for a new baking partner.

    In the mean time, please stop wailing.