Grief

The Sprinter still sits, gelled like the wax of a freshly extinguished candle. With each passing day I have undoubtedly experienced a different sequential stage of grief.

Sunday and Monday was denial - "Wow Em, I'm so proud of you for not overreacting," Jon says beaming with pride.

Tuesday was anger - Me sitting in Nick's borrowed truck screaming at the top of my lungs at 7 in the morning after I tried to get it unstuck from the surrounding snow drifts I managed to wedge it into.

Today is bargaining and depression - Tara tells me about her gelled car and how much she paid to get it fixed. I admit I'd pay that much too to get my van running again. This in addition to the countless times I've attempted to start the Sprinter after sadly gazing out my kitchen window at her stoic beauty.

Tomorrow? Acceptance.