Smarter people than me go to a therapist. Instead, I go shopping, pick up cupcakes, a venti white chocolate mocha, and buy a 6-pack of something fruity with the highest proof I can find. I come home with fast food Tex-Mex, and bing watch whatever is on my DVR.

That’s my therapy.

And, it typically works.

Not this time. It was bigger than that. Because recent events reminded me that life is much too short. And, it’s okay to love. I can continue to love. I can even continue to love him, and then my next man. I have to because it’s therapeutic, and it’s necessary.

When someone dies, your creative therapy methods don’t mean much. You are reminded of your own mortality. Making you focus on what’s important.

Now, I’m current on Scandal and Empire. Finished my cupcake, with 1 left. Cried a little for my family. Starting How to Get Away with Murder next. Then a shower. And, lying in bed until I fall asleep.

Disclaimer: This post was written yesterday, 2/23/15. With everything going on, I forgot to post.


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