I'm typing into my broken-down Android, letting my husband know that I'm still at the clinic with my mother. We're waiting for blood work. It's dreary and boring here and the wait has made me grumpy.
I look up, feeling as cracked and ancient as my phone, and laugh. My mother's opinion strikes me as hilarious. I think about the toddler and the dishes and the dust waiting for me at home. I think about the subway commute and some nagging pain in my hip and the frigid wind outside. I think I've aged 20 years in the space of two.