Cold Cups of Tea and Other Such Stories of Woe

There are few things worse than a cold cup of tea. A pair of socks in which only one has a hole. The sheer terror of thinking you may have left the straightening iron on all day. Christian rock.
These are such stories, written for a lack of happy endings (or endings at all, if I get too bored to finish them). Really, I'm just sick of happy endings. I'm sick of love stories. I'm sick of tying up loose ends. I write my stories knowing that I probably won't finish most of them, and I write them knowing they won't turn out with a 'happily ever after.'
But these aren't sad stories, at least, I hope not. There won't be any misery or agony or tears. Just a lot of ellipses.