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The morning sunlight spilled lazily across the kitchen counters, warm and golden, but my mood didn't match the vibe. My stomach grumbled so loudly it could've been mistaken for distant thunder. I hadn't eaten much last night, just a sad combination of chips, cookies, and hopefully my feelings of worthlessness but, now I was paying for it.
Dragging my feet across the cool wooden floor, I yanked open the fridge and stared blankly at its contents like they might magically assemble themselves into breakfast. Eggs. Milk. Bread. Some vegetables. A suspicious-looking jar of something green.
"Okay," I muttered to myself, rubbing my eyes. "How hard can breakfast be?"
The answer, I soon realized, was very.
