There is a moment when the sun hasn’t quite set, when the street lamps are on, but a wasp lands near your coffee cup, when the trees are multicolored, but you have a slight tan line from where your watch was. There is a moment when you stop thinking about work’s next projects and the errands you have to run when 5pm hits, when you stop thinking about travel plans for the holidays and this year’s gifts, when you stop feeling that itch for a run or the desire to binge on Halloween leftovers.

There is a moment when the water in the pot boils over, but you let it run in jagged lines towards the gas stove, leaving white marks in its path. There is a moment when you hurl your continuous glucose monitor (CGM) receiver across the room, and it knocks your foam roll for physical therapy to the floor. There is a moment when you scream at your insulin pump to stop beeping even though it can’t hear you and won’t listen.

There is a moment when you turn your phone off and hide it in the darkest recesses of your bedroom. No one will try to contact you so no one will ever know you did this to disconnect from the world because you are tired of incompetent co-workers, of failed best friends, of family members who no longer return your calls. You refuse to turn on that phone to check the weather for tomorrow, assuming it will be sunny and fallish.

There is a moment when you want to cry yourself to sleep and you turn on the electric blanket. There is a moment when cower under your covers and wonder what you will do tomorrow – will it be worth it, will it matter, will anyone care? There is a moment when you open your nightstand drawer and pull out a bottle of leftover prescription pain meds. There is a moment when you think of going for a run even though it’s 6pm and dark.

There is a moment when you’re glad you’re alone. There is a moment when you’re not.

There is a moment when the toddler downstairs starts wailing and screaming for Nana. There is a moment when a scent of weed drifts through your screened window. You close your curtains to block the street light. You turn on your air filter for white noise. You pick up your CGM receiver off the floor and re-position your foam roll so that it leans against your air conditioner unit. You turn off the gas stove and wait for the water to calm.

You turn on the sink faucet, and the spout comes loose, spraying water all over your chest. When you open the cupboard below, the flooded area soaks your feet, and you curse your luck. There is a moment when you want to throw the loose spout across the apartment, and run screaming down the street.

And then there is the moment when you look down at your soaked feet and water stained t-shirt and over at your burnt spaghetti noodles and you laugh and laugh and laugh, and you can’t stop laughing. Your stomach muscles cramp, and your insides feel like they’re on fire, but you can’t stop laughing.

When your body can no longer take the convulsing hysteria and when you wipe the tears from your cheeks, there is the moment when you clean up the mess, fix the faucet, and then boil a new pot of water with a new batch of spaghetti.