Here Comes Ol' Teapot Hands.

something new: when you are stressed, teapots fall out of your hands. you're not sure how this happens, which stresses you out more. more and more teapots. ceramic. copper. the glass ones shatter on the floor and leave shards that you step on, cutting deep fissures in the fleshy bits of your feet.

you try to sell the teapots on etsy, but no one wants them. you can't blame anyone. they're hideously gauche. you begin to develop a routine. monday morning is garbage day, so on sunday night you do a sweep through the house and find all the pieces and pots and shove them into garbage bags. there are a lot. the garbage men refuse to take any more. you have to start driving to the dump with your entire van full of teapots.

you get to know the people at the dump very well, and even think, maybe i've made some new friends! but then they find out about where the teapots are coming from and are disgusted. now when you go to the dump they simply incinerate your teapots in silence, refusing to meet your gaze.

it has been a few years now, and you have decided to kill yourself. you have stopped going to the dump. your house is dangerously full of teapots. you make a pot of tea in one of them, after clearing off the stove with a shovel. you crush up a bottle of oxycodones and mix them into the tea.

anyway, you successfully die. there's no happy ending to this story. having teapots come out of your hands is bad.