My tea mug had been the only thing I had taken to rinsing during my marathon of sloth. That I could get my act together enough to drink my tea out of something clean was enough to fool me that nothing was wrong; but when I ran out of milk and began to drink my tea black, I knew I was in a very bad place. Buying milk had become impossible, and to put that in its brutal context, I was living above a shop that sold milk.
