Read Me A Story

As a young child, my mother read to me every night. She was the bedtime storyteller.

Last Sunday, when I tested positive for coronvirus (again) I’d just published the essay about my relationship with illness. Ah, the irony. I’m sure that as I was getting sicker and sicker through the course of last week the idea for that essay landed easily in my lap. I haven’t been at peak functioning this week, and thinking about writing anything has …