Death kept cold in fridge.

But apparently not cold enough. Because when I opened the door, I unleashed the intangible horrors of the breath of death itself onto my household and myself.

Once I regained consciousness, I decided it was time to empty out a week’s worth of cooking into my last garbage bag and send it packing to the scavengers of my community dumpster. That was a long sentence.

With that, I will let the noxious fumes lull me into a slumber.