I keep staring at the paint supplies. Wondering if I could even remember how. If I could even make something that isn't a mess of spilled juice and glitter glue. Chris keeps saying I need a hobby but he doesn't get it. It's not about the hobby. It's about...I don't know...remembering I'm still here. Underneath the laundry piles and the Lego landmines. Underneath the constant 'Mommy Mommy Mommy'. It's not a hobby I need. It's a goddamn miracle.