My first thought: Oh no! Mustard guy?! WTF, dude.

My second thought: Alicia’ prose is always so delightful to read, does it come out like this effortlessly or does she have to edit like crazy to make it sing off the page so beautifully?

My third thought: I’d like to write something witty and hopeful and helpful, but I don’t really have the time and don’t really know her, and anyhow, what would even help, anyway? More Journaling? More Chocolate croissants?

My fourth thought: Do I have time to grab a couple pan au chocolates from Tatte before I drop the twins off at pre-school? I wonder if Alicia likes the pastries at Tatte? Doubtful. She probably cafes at a more literary place with worn couches and dusty paperbacks on the other side of the Potomac.

My fifth thought: Grief isn’t staged as much as it is like a to-do list of recurring appointments, that seems hectic and overwhelming until after awhile becomes routine and easy to multitask through.

My sixth thought: this is too many thoughts.

My seventh: “write through it, girl! Your pain uplifts the rest of us!” (Yes. This is me imagining the kind of advice from a book written by a bizarro Doyle or Gilbert).

My eighth: sincere this time, maybe? Sorry to hear you’re hurting. Heartbreak is the worst pain.