This morning, yet after another night of relentless quarreling with my ex, probably about who didn't say goodbye first before hanging up the phone, I roll over, place my tired, bare feet on my cold floor, and start another morning...alone.

I slap cold water on my puffy eyes, brush my rocks with a cheap, Dollar Store toothpaste, and man up to trek up to the San Francisco Coffee house.

I mindfully avoid each crack on the sidewalk up to the intersection of Ponce and Moreland, and step in a militaristic fashion, left right left, left foot leading.  I switch up with right leading to the next intersection.  Mind games keep me from feeling pain.  Some call it OCD.  Maybe.  I've been doing this for 5 years.

I make it to the San Francisco, and stand in the lengthy line of women dressed in suits, and men with their edgy, stylish frames.  My hair is sideways and I haven't applied deodorant.  Another normal day for me, dressed in a sweatshirt and workout pants.  At least I managed to brush my teeth.

Sign reads: $5.00 minimum on debit/credit cards.

"Fuck."

Yes, I say it out loud, just as the cute, bubbly barista asks me, "what can I get for ya?"

I muster a smile and say, "I'll be back."

"Left, left, left, left left, left, left, left," I "mind chat" as I march to the ATM.

"Right, right, right, right, right, right, right, right, " back to the San Fran.

I open the door for an adorable, blond headed three year old, with his smiling, good looking father in tow.

"Slow down, son," he laughs.

I just stare at the pavement, and smooth the cowlick on the right side of my skull.

"Thanks," he smiles.

All I can utter is, "Yep."

It's finally time for some coffee that I literally walked a mile for.

I stare at the glass case full of pastries, and croissants.  God, how I would love just a nibble or two.  However, at 37, my metabolism is not what it was, and being a "so called actress," it's my job to look less than 130 lbs. on camera.  I weigh 136.  I have an audition this afternoon for a non paid gig.  Better not bloat up beforehand.

"They say that breaking up is haaaard to doooo-ooooooo..."  plays...loudly over the loudspeakers.

I roll my eyes and take a big sigh.  Behind me, the blonde three year old sways to the music and his dad snaps his fingers.

"Welcome back!" grins the barista who heard me say "fuck" earlier.

"Large coffee, please."

"Great!  That'll be $2.48!" she says with a smile.

A line begins to back up behind me as I pull out every dime and penny I can find in my shabby change purse.  The kid and his dad are still snapping and smiling.

"There.  Forty eight cents."

"Thank for your patronage!"  the barista says as her eyes twinkle.

"Thanks."

I sit down in a leather chair, and begin to write.  I wonder, "At what point did my life turn?  At what point did the tide turn for the girl who lifted the shades at 6 a.m. every morning to let the sunshine in?  Who is this woman who is now beat down and bitter?  And is there hope to snap my fingers, and dance again?"

I dunno....

I just dunno....