As I sit on the toilet upstairs, dappled in the twilight sun, I can hear my beloved Tim downstairs cooking me dinner and it reminds me of another time, another man. Far off in the distance now. Oh what anguish I went through over that man. I wish I could turn back the years, go back and tell myself, sitting on that man’s toilet, in that man’s apartment, that something much better would come along. If only I could reach back and give myself a hand, let myself know that all the dark and scary times to come would lead me to this. And love. And America. With my beautiful Tim who cooks me dinner.