When poopers lurk in the bathroom.

I was smack dab in the middle of 5 years of nonstop nursing school. Or rather 5 years of nonstop frantically-trying-not-to-drown-from-the-pressure-because-they’re-cramming-so-much-into-your-head-that-it-feels-like-you’re-drinking-from-a-firehose-that-never-turns-off. And it won’t stop until you pass your boards. That’s exactly the place where I was that day.

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On wrestling with that ice-cold bucket of Plan B.

These last few months have been full of accepting unwanted realities, haven’t they? Actually, my last few years have been weighted pretty heavily with this, if I’m totally honest. Illness, challenges, pain, disappointments, shock, loss, grief, acceptance … I personally continue to trip my way through this muck of tangles on a daily basis.

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On grabbing hold of some squiggly, wiggly joy.

You can call us crazy, if you want. It’s okay. You can shake your heads with that knowing smile at the chaos that’s certain to become our lives. We don’t mind. You can even think it’s way too soon after losing our sweet Cookie just a week before. That’s fine. We just disagree.

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