TAKING WHAT THEY GIVING
My brother and I are talking on the phone last week. It’s evening but I am working, as I have been doing every evening when I don’t have plans or previous commitments, for what seems like, and is, in fact, months. I’m grumpy with it and also with PMS and the fact that in the war against the inanimate, I am losing daily skirmishes—the windshield wipers on the car have, for instance, achieved strategic victories not once, but twice in the past several days. I can’t remember now what day it was that we talked, as every day has blurred...