I'm driving home tonight from a foreign film, art house double feature, full moon shining bright against a clear black sky. And I can't stop sobbing. I've been waiting for this cry for almost two days now. Two of the men I love the most in this world are sick. Not flu-sick, but really sick. In hospitals hundreds of miles apart and hundreds of miles away from me. I'm stuck babysitting the dog. And my bestfriend, another one of the men I love the most, might be moving to the other side of the country, settling into an affordable trailer park and buying a bar. I have no job right now, though a big job interview next week. Everything is up in the air, but nothing seems to really be changing. So, of course, the sobbing is par for the course right now.
But I still want to take a picture of this beautiful moon, even if it is with my crappy camera phone. (God, how I really really want a great digital camera!) And I spend five minutes after I park looking for the stray wolf-looking dog that I saw wondering a few blocks away from my house on my drive in, in the complete dark, even though my own dog is probably dancing at the door with his legs crossed. No matter how bad it gets, I'm still me. And it isn't really that bad.