I soon began to run the spectrum from patience to aggravation as I became more and more tormented by a leak in the roof of my apartment, which seemed to never stop. This was no ordinary leak; it was witty, because every time we thought we had stopped it, it would show itself again with a vengeance. After grumbling to the landlord, the kids, my friends, and anyone else who would listen, frustration won the battle in my mind, and I began to allow the tentacles of self-pity to slowly wrap around me. In my impulse to fix this myself, I sank further into the pit of self-pity, and glimpses of hope began to slowly fade.
How could a leak consume and cripple me?
