Deuces

The man was looking at me rather creepily. (Is "creepily" a word?). His eyes pierced mine, the rest of his face otherwise hidden as he looked at me through his rear-view mirror.   We were at a stop light- and he missed seeing it turn green ahead of me because his smoldering "I'll murder you" eyes couldn't tear away from staring at me. I contemplated honking so we could get this short procession going, but I didn't want to poke the bear.   He finally noticed everyone around him was moving and he carried on.  And as I eased at a careful distance behind him, I studied his license plates. And then I smiled in a memory.  When I was young, like... mid-late 1980's young, my sisters and brother Chris were in high school and at the age of being picked up in friends' cars for random things.  And over the next decade, as I myself transitioned into a teenager I started getting picked up in unfamiliar vehicles, as well.  And my dad's habit of staring out

I told my colleague that I felt like a failure.  She asked why I felt like a failure today. And I told her that I feel like that every day before 8 a.m. rolls around. Today was not much different.  I had dropped off a daughter at school late.  We weren't going to be late until I made a decision to turn around and get said daughter's forgotten tie from home.  I was racing, like I do most mornings, and I felt like a failure.  I had dropped off the other daughter- the one that radiates cuteness with her round cheeks, belly and doubly cute double chin at her daycare that I do not love to drop her off at.  And that made me feel like a failure. And my colleague, rather surprised, if not dismissive, pointedly said: "but you're not failing.... you're doing it... you're doing everything right... and there's no such thing as doing everything right, anyway". And she is right. So today, I won't feel like a failure.  Fall: