I just got home late from my painting class and quickly ate some cold chicken at the dinner table. I don't eat here much these days. I'm usually standing up in the kitchen or on the sofa watching netflix. B was a great cook. He prepared most if not all of our meals when he was alive. He loved being in the kitchen, every new and delicious feast would be plated like a piece of art. He took pride in this and was one of the ways he showed he loved me. We would sit at this table every morning and every night...together. So much has changed. One half of the table is now permanently covered with random legal papers, unopened mail, and receipts I keep for my injury claim. I suddenly feel more depressed than usual. I wish I could go back. Anyone have a time machine?