and then

i cried.
on the kitchen floor, in the dark, the mushroom soup going cold on the table above me and reminding me how fast our needs can change. i no longer needed food. i couldn't look at it. i needed someone to lift me of that bright yellow carpet and make me believe it was just a bad dream. or that, if it in fact was a reality, i was strong enough to conquer it and win.

i shook myself off it all.

listened to P. talk about his father's injury.

had something else to worry about.



oh, yeah, and ate some chocolate. i opened the fererro rocher that's been smiling at me for weeks. because, somehow, i get a feeling, there won't be much to celebrate anytime soon....