I can almost touch the tension as everyone gets ready for school and work this morning. All I want to do is escape from having to save everyone but myself, as the arguments spew from Stella and the kids, whizzing by me like bullets on the beaches of Normandy. The argument enemy is powerful. I know if I can get the hell out of the deep water, to the car, I’d liberate myself from the onslaught of the enemy who is pretty much fighting with itself at this point. Run, Dusty, you idiot, I think, as I round the corner to the front door, and slip on a smear of yogurt.

I look up at the ceiling, thinking, A broken back wouldn’t be that bad today. Truth be told, I would trade peace and quiet for almost anything in life. When things are quiet, I am alive. When things are peaceful, I can somehow connect with the universe and flirt with it, almost control it. I can make major life decisions standing on my deck at night in Blackwater, Arizona, looking up at the stars, saying, “No stars, you are not that smart. I am the one in control of my life.” I’ve lived in Blackwater all my life, and the stars have not changed. But the stars are smarter some days, and today, October 23, they are telling me to suck it big time—by putting yogurt on the floor to ensure I would indeed suck it.