The past few weeks have piled up a few small sadnesses. A month of sickness in the house, back and forth between Michael and I, and the senseless smashing of my beloved truck. It was totaled in the middle of the night by a teenage boy who, after wrecking both of our cars, just ran away on foot. We woke up the next morning to find nothing but scatted broken vases and flower buckets at the spot where the truck had been towed in the early hours of St. Patricks Day.
Trucks are replaceable. Humans are not. I've been through worse, so much worse, and yet I'm still heartbroken. Sadness, anger, guilt, sadness, anger, guilt! We are so very fortunate, if you have to be hit by a drunk driver, it's best not to be inside the car. The other driver's insurance situation is a diaster though, so everything is in painful limbo. But birds are chipping here and spring seems to finally be breaking through. Cars don't matter, breathe, cars don't matter, breathe, cars don't matter. Maybe now is the time to revive my hunter green jaguar e-type dreams?
