“…I drowned in moonlight, strangled by my own bra.”

I feel like my little “three piece heart” has broken into a million tiny splinters today, and I don’t think they’ll be patched back together for a while now.

Carrie Fisher, passed away today and, like so many others, I’m grieving hard.  Alan Rickman got me good, David Bowie made me sad, I still can’t listen to Prince’s “Purple Rain” and the thought of George Michael chokes me up.

But Carrie Fisher.

It’s like someone I know and love dearly is gone.  Yes, I grew up with her as Leia, but she was a lot more than that.  She was a talented writer and a mental health champion.  She overcame addiction and personal demons galore.  Because of her, for the first time in my life, I’m comfortable with how I look and feel.  That’s a gift you can’t begin to repay anyone for.

Carrie gave the bird frequently and did exactly as she pleased and took no prisoners in the process.  I admired her so much for that and always will.  If I can be even a fraction of the woman she was, I’ll consider myself great.

Let 2016 be remembered as the year we lost an amazing soul, but let 2017 be the year we all appreciate ourselves for who we are and take life a little less seriously.


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