Addiction

I slowly lifted my index finger parallel to my eyelash and blinked. My auburn lashes were clean. No leftover mascara remained. That meant I had washed my face and possibly pulled it together before falling into bed. The perfectly appointed midnight blue monogram on my J. Crew pajamas, wrinkled against my tired body, was a positive sign that my faux façade was in place. The bow on this sloppy package was neatly tied. Thank God I gave up wine for Lent. Substituting vodka seemed to be going swimmingly. The light peeked into my bedroom through the half-drawn shutters. It was deafeningly quiet, which meant it was early on a Sunday morning. I squinted to see across the room to the quiet cove

My first memories were created within the walls of the sweetest little preschool, St. Stephen’s. I can’t recall entire days; just bits and pieces of the time I spent there. Some moments are very vivid in my memory bank. The education building was simple: one long hallway with lots of nursery doors of which the top halves were swung wide open, welcoming little children into the cheerful classrooms. The smell of original Lysol filled the preschool, indicating the sky blue nap mats were clean. Rubbing my fingers along the vinyl mat during rest time is still a comforting thought today. After nap time, I loved to play “Family.” Often, I would pretend to be the mom and invite my friends in for