yin/yang

This morning, I dropped off my baby and headed to work. Every muscle, every tendon in my body wanted to keep tightly wrapped around his, but I pried him from his carseat and placed him in the arms of another.

When I pop in to get a coffee, I see another woman with a baby roughly his age and my stomach aches. I watch his legs dangle around her hips, his arm draped across her collarbone. Then I order the kind of drink that priveleged people drink.

**

I hate cars. In comparison to feet and bicycles, at least.

But if I’m gonna be in one, I’m gonna move fast. Moving fast makes me feel accomplished.

The woman in front of me drove way too slow. I kept creeping on the right, getting too near her bumper; I was urging, urging, urging her to consider picking up her pace. She didn’t. My rage picked up. Then she put her brake lights on, in the middle of the road. She slowed to a near-stop. From the corner of my eye, I sensed movement. Swish swosh, whish whosh. Back and forth. Deep brown. Moving westward.

A squirrel.

She stopped to let him cross the street.

I memorized her license plate, so that I could properly thank the heavens for her.

**

I have felt sick the last couple days. Nothing glaring, just a light sickness. The kind that makes you feel like you’re in an altered state. The kind that makes you question how people — including people like you — ever choose to feel that way.

“What will you have for dinner?” Nic asked, when I mentioned I couldn’t eat ‘normal’ food. “Just some sad dinner,” I said. “Saltines, applesauce, and then probably some chocolate, if I’m being honest.”

He brings me my dinner plate, upstairs. The tiny red heart is a chocolate he found in the kitchen. The tiny red heart is my heart. It’s grateful for the person I handed my baby to this morning, the delicious drink I consumed, the woman that was ahead of me. It’s grateful for Nic and not-sad-at-all dinner and my house, with an upstairs, and for all of the things.

I wish a million things, and I have a million things. There is light in all the dark. There is light in all the dark.

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