Hello. It’s me.

How’s it going? Sorry I haven’t written. It’s cliche and lame, but I’ve been busy.

How are you?

Me? Just fine, thanks. I’ve been something I rarely am: quiet.

Thanksgiving.

Virgen de Guadalupe.

Then my birthday. Final exams.

My grandma had a massive stroke and passed away.

Christmas.

New year.

All year end things to me are typically so warm and happy. This year it was all soaked by loss, and lack of being close to my immediate family. I did my due diligence with my daily life and then crawled under a heated blanket, eager for the year to end.

Now, I’m grateful for what I have, I have nothing to complain about, but mourning always turns things a little dark blue. I feel everything, it can’t be helped. My friend told me a few weeks ago (over text, because this is 2016) that my heart is the abyss. Lacking all tone and void of any sort of true context, I’ll embrace that sentiment.

My heart is the abyss. It has depths unknown to any man. It is vast, it is mysterious. It feels infinite things, it is an infinite thing. It feels it all.

I feel it all and with that means I have to withdraw sometimes. I’m allowed.

 

Anyway, drama aside, another recent development- I am alive, and I feel like a chubby little phoenix. You know why? Because I got into a car accident last month. My car was both noble and old. I was on the highway, it was night time and I thought a person merging onto the highway was going to absolutely cream me. I slowed down, tried to get into the passing lane. Someone was already in the passing lane. The merging car drove like a bat out of hell. I lost total control of my vehicle. For a moment, it jerked so hard I thought it would flip over.

It didn’t, but it did slide around, a full 360. I was sure I was dead dog meat.

I loosened up, cooperating with my swiftly approaching destiny- a certain impact with a ton of metal, maybe a semi, an SUV if I was lucky. Done, I figured I was done for.

Suddenly everything had stopped spinning. I started shaking. I reached for my phone, in my pocket, called 911. The woman who was in the passing lane stopped, went to me in the middle of the highway. I got out of the car to see the damage, and found that I couldn’t see anything in the dark. My glasses had flown off of my face in the accident. She hugged me and I cried. She was kind enough to stay with me until the police came.

I owe her a cake, or something.

Anyway- my whip was a steal of a deal, more of a favor than an actual sale or point of income for the previous owner. The crash left it torn up, and though it was reliable, new it was not, and it was trashed underneath. Total loss, it would be costing around 4 times more than what I paid for it to get it road ready. A junk yard gave me $80 dollars to haul it away.

I had to pay $25 dollars to get a quick title on it, so yeah. $55 dollars for my busted ride.

But I am here. I am alive.

Sorry I haven’t written. I have a lot to talk about. I hope you still want to read it all.

Yours,

Esperanza.

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2 thoughts on “Hello. It’s me.

  1. I know we haven’t had a chance to talk much lately (wellll, as much as in past lives), but I think you have been especially tough this winter. So many awful things have happened, and more difficulties than you’ve mentioned here–and you still have your sense of humor and fun and excitement over little things. Soon I will give you a hug instead of waving through the window, once my home isn’t a big ole box of contagion! It’s OK to swim in your depths when you need to. You haven’t forgotten the light either.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I could never get too hard or too jaded. My life has been too grandiose to get hung up on parts of it that happen naturally.

      Swimming in the depths adds layers. Swimming in the depths gives me stories. I hang out with The Muse, come up for air happy and with arms full. But I gotta come up, I have to go over the stuff with my friends, as we wave through window and cough out the last dregs of bronchitis *hak hak*

      Like that little blue fish said- just keep swimming.

      Like

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