It's 3 AM. Or is it 2? I'm old enough to remember physically adjusting my watches and clocks for Daylight Saving Time. Now it's mostly automatic. My phone and laptop tell me it's 0344. The cloud handles it now, I reckon.
I text my friend on the West Coast and give my condolences. She’s my sissy, and I'm hers. Grief is a complicated thing. Layered. Sometimes bond-dependent. Sometimes not. Always complicated. I’m here and she knows.
3 AM snack: Burnt bagel with olive oil and salt, coffee with entirely too much sugar, and almost an entire bag of Starburst candy. I'll probably get diabetes before finishing this book. Send help.
