481 Days–Trails of Brake Lights

I picture her smile when she is gone,

I pray it’s not too long,

Until she comes home,

My baby’s brown hair and eyes,

On my mind,

Today I will think of her 1,000 times.

I’ve been feeling a little under the weather the past few days—lethargic and out of sorts.  I find myself staring, zoning out—it’s like I’m sleeping with my eyes open.  Daydreaming constantly.  I feel that life has got me fatigued.

The work week starts—grey clouds and mist accompany 6:30am as I follow a trail of glowing red brake lights down a busy street.  Subjected to honking horns—the impatience and rage of the 87 and 101 spread like some sort of contagion.  People swerve, people nonverbally express their disdain—shaking their fists, heads and putting up middle-fingers.  I always say “traffic brings out the worst in us as a species.”  Or maybe it’s our true nature.  Who knows?

I’d prefer not to over-analyze or spend too much time thinking about the more frustrating aspects of human nature—but today, I can’t help it.

I haven’t seen my baby in about a week—and I’ve come to realize that when she is gone, a piece of me is with her.

6:30am is brighter with Lila in the backseat—and the glowing brake lights symbolize more time we’ll be together.  When we hit traffic—we can talk longer on our way to her school.  I don’t notice as much the swerving drivers shaking their fists, flipping the bird and spitting venom at other drivers.—I’m calm, cool and content.  My perspective is different.

I love that little kid with all of my heart.

I have to be honest, specific to my past issues with alcohol.  The thought of drinking creeps into my mind less and less.  I don’t crave alcohol like I used to.  The more time that has passed—the less I remember what beer, wine or liquor tastes like—what it feels like.  It’s a feeling and sensation I don’t miss one bit.  I’ve been able to let go of my former, drunk self.  The lessons learned upon reflection, after my active alcoholic days, have stuck with me—and for that, I’m a better person.  I still have a lot to work on 481 days later—that much I know is true.

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