a radio was on.

Have I shared my small fantastical idea that there is a parallel universe so close it sometimes feels like I could just take a step to the left and be back on that path, or open my eyes quickly in the morning and catch a glimpse of the other world, the world from before last summer, a universe where I hum merrily on my way, and I don't have cancer, and Hillary Clinton is president, and we don't have to ever realize that it is much worse than we imagined, over here where I have stage four cancer and Donald Trump is president. I feel so close to that Tracy--I can picture her waking up wearily at 4:30 in the morning to answer emails and make pancakes and adjust her black dress and slide into the old, black Honda to steal through the quiet, dark woods of Carlisle and Concord until suddenly she joined Route 2 and was on her way, into Boston, into her office, where she sat in her office and talked, really, for a living.  Oh sure, there were PowerPoints and bullet pointed memorandum,

Have I shared my small fantastical idea that there is a parallel universe so close it sometimes feels like I could just take a step to the left and be back on that path, or open my eyes quickly in the morning and catch a glimpse of the other world, the world from before last summer, a universe where I hum merrily on my way, and I don't have cancer, and Hillary Clinton is president, and we don't have to ever realize that it is much worse than we imagined, over here where I have stage four cancer and Donald Trump is president. I feel so close to that Tracy--I can picture her waking up wearily at 4:30 in the morning to answer emails and make pancakes and adjust her black dress and slide into the old, black Honda to steal through the quiet, dark woods of Carlisle and Concord until suddenly she joined Route 2 and was on her way, into Boston, into her office, where she sat in her office and talked, really, for a living.  Oh sure, there were PowerPoints and bullet pointed memorandum,

I started knitting again recently. Oh, you didn't know I could knit? Oh, sure--Tucker's mom taught me in college, back in the days when I wore an old pair of Birkenstocks every. single. day. Back in the days when I had boyfriends with names like Tucker, and I read and reread poetry and lovely, thick novels literally written by authors who were paid by the page, back when I was a vegetarian and that really just meant I ate rice and beans for dinner every night, because that was what the Kenyon College dining hall provided for vegetarians. Every night, mind you.  I had friends from lots of walks of life (limited, of course, by whoever the Kenyon College admissions team had decided to let in), and one of my friends, who we will call Ed, because that was his name, was in a fraternity-- not just any fraternity, but the Dekes, golden-haired sons of Greek Gods, who were destined for careers in investment banking (that's what it was in those days--today they would be destined for c

I started knitting again recently. Oh, you didn't know I could knit? Oh, sure--Tucker's mom taught me in college, back in the days when I wore an old pair of Birkenstocks every. single. day. Back in the days when I had boyfriends with names like Tucker, and I read and reread poetry and lovely, thick novels literally written by authors who were paid by the page, back when I was a vegetarian and that really just meant I ate rice and beans for dinner every night, because that was what the Kenyon College dining hall provided for vegetarians. Every night, mind you.  I had friends from lots of walks of life (limited, of course, by whoever the Kenyon College admissions team had decided to let in), and one of my friends, who we will call Ed, because that was his name, was in a fraternity-- not just any fraternity, but the Dekes, golden-haired sons of Greek Gods, who were destined for careers in investment banking (that's what it was in those days--today they would be destined for c