Ten.Four Hundred & Ninety-Two
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3 am.
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Maybe I would have fallen back asleep if I had turned out his night light.
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Fireplace. Coffee. Water. Mind racing. So many boxes, too many of them empty.
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I can’t quite read their mood. “It’s your last Monday!” I say.
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I watch the leaves blow across the front yard. The rain and the winds have stripped the trees. The streets are littered with wet yellow piles.
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Lunch break.
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That was not what we were expecting.
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That feeling of being nauseated. Like you want to throw up but you can’t. I do breathing exercises in the pick-up line. If I feel this way, I can only imagine that he also feels this way which makes me feel even worse.
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But it can be figured out.
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Nothing about this has been easy. I’m choosing to believe it will be worth it in the end.