I'm here with a glass of wine, some green olives, and some cheese. My J is asleep in the big bed, and I think I'm feeling better, thanks in no small part to this joke of his: "Mom, why did the orange roll down the hill?" "Dunno, why?" "Because he ran out of juice!!" *Cue manic four-year-old laughter.*

I'm sure going to the gym has something to do with feeling better, as well. I, er, tore it up on the elliptical trainer, I think.

Breana is a smart girl. The awesome power of self-confidence . . . she's so right. So right.

It's been 18 months since J's dad moved out, and I am so very, very definitely not ready to acquire a man in my life. At this moment I feel like a shattered glass. I cannot look at myself in a mirror and find one bit of loveliness. I can't look at my life and find one thing that I'm doing as well as I should. I can't locate my dreams. I don't want to think about this any more. This is pointless. I just want to be.

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