Being the anal retentive/control freak/organizational wizard that I am, there is almost nothing I love more than sitting down and finishing one hell of a puzzle.
I'm talking thousands of itty bitty pieces, some horribly complex building as a picture, so big it fills the whole table and the better part of a weekend.
But nothing drives me crazier than finding that one wonky piece that got bent the last time you tossed everything into the box.
You can bend it back, but it never quite goes flat again and good luck ever making it fit its neighbours just right again. Everything else is smooth and perfect but that damn piece - it just sticks out like sore thumb.
I feel like that piece.
When the rest of my friends are talking diapers and engagement rings, I think about nothing but ashes and car accidents.
I am supposed to be in my 20s here. One of those decades you want to recount and relive for the rest of your life.
Not bloody likely.
I hate that I can't relate to my twenty-something friends anymore. I hate that the things we used to laugh and giggle about I just don't understand anymore. I hate that I feel completely left behind.
And good luck fitting into the 'Widow Club'. Even in my 'Young Spousal' group I am the youngest, by at least a decade. When the rest of the widows are talking pension plans and grandchildren I'm still fixated on whether I'll get to have babies one day and how I'm going to pay off my student loan.
There isn't anywhere I fit in anymore.
I'm a wonky puzzle piece that just won't lie flat.
Damn you, Craig, for being my best friend for 10 years and then disappearing when I need you most. Damn you.
You were the one place I always fit.
Because right now, I know we would be wonky together.