My life these days:
A heavy stew of grief. My mother died 29 days ago.
Anger. My father a brutish mess of narcissism, of meanness, of fast-creeping and hard-edged dementia. His demons unleashed. A lifetime of bad behavior gone to extremes, the traumas inflicted anew with a dose of the mad.
Anxiety. After a good run of a decade as an in-demand consultant, I am suddenly struggling to stay afloat as the economy tanks.
Existential angst: I feel adrift, unmoored.
And I am a writer who doesn’t write. Although I hope to change at least that.
