Just In Time for the Butterflies
I was driving and crying, the beautiful butterflies were all over the place and crashing into my windshield with deathly abandon. The woman in question had answered my question and shown me the way out. I was set free and at the same time, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was headed over 100 miles an hour toward a splat.
I know it wasn’t about her and her drinking. I know it was more about my attitude toward her drinking. I mean, my best friend’s parents are in the late 80s and drink every night, so if you want to drink, fkn drink. Just not every night, if you’re going to be in a relationship with me. I never made it about the bottle and neither did she. For her, it was her need to travel. And if she had to pay for me to accompany her, she was going to be able to travel less.
“Yes, that is true, for now,” I told her.
I had plans. I always had plans.
I don’t have plans at this moment which is a bit terrifying. I had called my 85-year-old mom and told her I was coming over. My refuge. My rock. My lifetime supporter and cheerleader. The blur of the bugs and the tears and the curvy road was increasing my anxiety a bit. Perhaps it’s better to be anxious than sad, I said to myself as I pushed on the accelerator.
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