We meet in the kitchen by accident, taking pills in the dark, trying not to wake our family. My sister selects Tylenol, and I take 3 ibuprofen with a side of Mylanta and a shot of Captain.

We wonder what will happen.

We lock the door, and wonder what's next. I wonder what's next for me, for her, for John C. Reilly, for the state of Utah, for the valves in my car, for the valves in my heart, for the emails I'll get and I'll give, for what our hair will do in the summer-Illinois-humidity. In pursuit of God's best, in reluctance we try to sacrifice everything else.

In one year these problems will be a joke. Maybe. We'll still be moving forward unless murder. Unless tornadoes. Unless rapture. Unless it works out for true love or fake love or job opportunities and new addresses. To new life that gets newer and more complex in the changing biology of choices.