I start my day the same way every day. My alarm rings, and so does my husbands’, a warning that our time together is ending soon, as we push tighter into each other to steal the skin to skin contact while we can. The minutes pass as I slowly lower my standards. Do I really need to wash my hair? I showered yesterday, it’s not like a stink! But time kept marching on either way, and as usual, I’ve put it off until the last minute. I quickly throw on some jeans, a black tank with a black and white jacket that made me look respectable, especially compared to most of the people downtown. I threw on some large hoop earrings, slick my hair back and drew some lips on, in a deep red - you know this is your color.

I take that last look in the mirror before we rush out to the car in a way that made it feel like we were excited about where we were going.

We weren’t.

Dread is a much more apt way to describe where I’m headed. As I sit on the phone, trying to memorize funny jokes as I page through