The logical solution would be to make a spreadsheet, but, you see, I like spreadsheets about as much a a cat likes taking a bath. So, of course, I took no action.

I wound up with a huge bruise on my chest, torn pajamas, and knees so swollen I could only creep like a slow leak when attempting to walk our dog.

That’s the beauty of art. It captures moments, dreams, imagined lives, not all that comes to pass.

A memory of standing in front of a camera, smiling wide as a sunset, no worries about how I looked.

This quest for a boyfriend backfired hugely, and I slid downhill fast, blaming myself the whole time.