(from this book)
I should be on the phone. At least. I should call two friends, one after the other. I got up in the middle of the night and put a pink post-it on my desk: call U, call A.
U is losing the ground beneath her feet with her partner falling deeper and deeper into the Alzheimer tunnel, A has received yet another no-thank-you letter from a promising - we all thought so! - job offer and time as well as unemployment benefits are running out.
And I am sitting here searching for words and the right kind of energy and feeling to surface. But my hands are cold, the multitude of ailings hissing and kicking inside my body. Somewhere people are starving, suffering, dying, planes crash and bombs explode. Our planet is covered in festering wounds and my hands are cold and the phone is so far away right now.