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Day 231

Updated: Jun 26, 2019

I feel like an idiot. I feel like a fool. I feel like a monster. I feel like a ghoul.

I cry at nighttime. I cry in the light. I fight back tears. I fight off the fright.

I wish for a time machine. I wish for another chance. I want my baby back. That is all that I ask.

On an architecture tour, Molly mentioned her interest in doing Chicago Architecture Center’s annual Halloween tour of Graceland Cemetery. I offered to arrange it for us so we could use my CAC discount. Even as I made the reservations, I questioned the wisdom of signing up to do a cemetery tour.

The day of the cemetery tour, I had a violent nightmare. I spent the morning quarreling and crying. When 8 am finally came around, I texted Molly and canceled. I knew I was not going to have my stuff together enough to be around on this tour. Molly was her normal amazing, understanding self. I’m like Tinker Bell—only, instead of clapping making me stronger, friendship does.

By noon, I’d showered and departed to run some work errands. On my way, I called my mother to complain about how miserable I am. After sharing some of the more biting insults I’d heard in the last few days, my mother assured me that having lived with me for eighteen years, I was not nearly as terrible as I’d been told I was. There’s probably a law that states that mothers have to say those things to their crying children no matter how old their children are. It’s probably after the law that says that children are never ever supposed to die before their parents and grandparents.


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Nov 04, 2018



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Nov 02, 2018

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