15 July 2009, 2:44 P.M.

I feel hollow inside. I’ve cried myself out for now. I don’t know how I will fare at work later today, but I am a bit worried. Tomorrow is the anniversary of the crash two years ago. Mary Ann Tam is dead, will have been dead for two years, but I see the face of her son every time he and I work at the same time, he in Starbucks, I in the check stand at the local King Soopers. I don’t know why I keep reliving that moment, when I see her swerving in front of me on that dirt road, but I see it many times when I drive by that cross on the side of the road. She is completely out of control, fishtailing left, right, left, sliding sideways down the road at my car… BANG! A flash of white as the airbag deploys. I look for my phone, thank goodness I charged it earlier. 9.1.1... I get out of the car and walk toward hers as I talk to the operator, I hope she is going to be alright… “Hold on, help is on the way, hang in there!” Blood. Coming out her nose. Coming out her mouth… coming out her ear. Please, let help arrive soon. Police and ambulance come, dad arrives shortly after. They sit me in dad’s car for now, get me off my feet. She is dead. I don’t even know her name yet. I am airlifted to the hospital. After they figure out I am well, without a scratch, mom, grandma, aunt, family come to my side. They are glad I am alive. Why then do I feel so sad? Mary Ann Tam, mother and wife, is dead. The accident was her fault, but I am sad.

Two years later. I cry as I type this, but I have to get it out of my head, onto this electronic media, so that I can go to work empty-minded and ready to smile. It is a job requirement that I be cheerful. I think I need a higher dosage of medication. I have to remember, but I don’t want to dwell in it. There would be something wrong if I forgot all of it. I can’t change the past, but the future depends on the now. I need to remember: I love my job. I love my job. I love my job. I love my job.

My mantra, my litany:
I love my job. I love my job. I love my job. I love my job.

I need to repeat that, often, and insistent, maybe if I say it enough, it will be true.

Maybe… if I say it often enough, I will believe it.

I wish… no, I pray, that I won’t do something stupid. I can’t afford to lose my job. I can’t afford to make a mistake. I can’t afford to break down. I can’t afford to give in to my whims. I can’t afford…

Who am I kidding? I can’t afford to sneeze and fart at the same time. I have no money, it is all spent before I earn it, to pay the bills. My medicines to keep me sane, run more than my rent check. Neither are able to be dispensed with.