I'm depressed. I know, big woop. But I'm about to turn 33. Another year gone by. Another Day of the Dead approaching that I'm not getting married on. No black bridesmaid dresses and sugar skull cake. No husband.

I don't know what's going on with my central valley boyfriend. He told me he wasn't going to move up here because of his son. We've been talking less and less. He messages me once every 24 hours. A question without a question mark, like he doesn't care to hear the answer. No more I love you's. No more you're beautifuls.

I could really use them, though. I went to the doctor and they weighed me. I don't have a scale at home. She told me my weight and ushered me into a room where I sat directly across from a large mirror. Staring back at my sad, fat reflection I started to cry. I began full on weeping when she said I had to get a pap smear.

Fuck.