subtle masochism, part dos

Today, I was prepared. I knew I'd be sitting in a waiting room for at least an hour and, in my attempt to help myself out, I brought my own coffee. 24 fluid ounces of actual, semi-decent, gas station coffee. Today I would not be fooled by the waiting room excuse coffee. I could ignore the voice in my head, because I had something better. Granted, not by much, but it was something.  

As I walked into the office, my triumphant smile fell from my face. This office has a Keurig. 

I shouldn't be surprised. This is my life. I keep going for the bad over and over and when I finally settle for semi-decent, there's something incredible right in front of my face. 

I can't have them both. I can't just toss a full 24 oz cup of coffee in the trash can. I have a commitment to see this cup through, though it tastes worse with each sip and each stolen glance at the Keurig.  My stomach is churning as I get up to walk out the door. I had tried to finish the cup I had so I could grab a cup of the good stuff, but each drink seemed to be replaced. It wasn't going to go away and it didn't matter what I did to try to get rid of it. I steal once last glance, and regretfully walk out the door. 

I just can't win, so why not let the masochist take over?