Breaking Down

If I told you my car broke down on the Bay Bridge this morning would you even believe me?

And I swear to God, I think the police officer that finally called a tow truck for me is the one that arrested me in April. It was like my own little "Crash" moment.

My guardian angel Hannah, who is miraculously at home whenever my car hits the fan these days, informed me that it must be because Mercury's in retrograde. I don't know entirely what that means, but okay.

So three hours later, when I finally arrived home - soaked to the bone and carrying everything I could manage to salvage from the interior of my car - I did the only thing I could think to do in order to keep myself from crumbling to the floor in a sobbing mess. I died my hair black. And oh yes, there were scissors involved.

Yesterday would have been my eleventh anniversary with C. That's almost unfathomable to me right now. Almost half a lifetime. Poof. A couple of weeks ago I found all of our pictures from South America. We look so young, and hopeful, and in love. It was heartbreaking.

But like I told Bruno yesterday, I have been broken before. Lots of times in fact. The difference is that this time I'm setting the bones so that they'll heal properly. Or at least I'm trying to. But it's a lot of work. And I am very, very tired.