Apparently, eight is the magic number. Today, I got really sad and really mad, all at the same time. In Traveling Mercies, Anne Lamott talks about how after her best friend Pammy dies, she was hoarse from screaming. She had blisters on her hands from pounding her bed post with her tennis racket. And part of me thought, "that's a little excessive, Annie" and part of me totally understands. I have been known to throw things in anger - not at someone. But man, it can feel really good to chunk a shoe, right? Today it just hit me, boom - and the tears were flowing, hard. I was driving to pick up Thomas from school and could NOT stop crying. I think what started it was a phone conversation earlier in the day and I said something along the lines of - Carrie was my person. She was always supposed to be there, like your parents are always supposed to be there. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I thought - if everything fell apart, if maybe even Beaux didn't love me - Carrie would. I mean, the love between us was so fundamental. It was there; I could count on it. This is not to discount my relationship with Beaux at all - but our friendship love was that important to me. And I was - and am!- just so angry that it's been taken away. That THIS is the end to the story. And I know it's not the end, somehow, but yet - it feels all so final.