It’s the Manhattan winter of 1992, less than three months since I’ve left my mate of fourteen years, losing, in one fell swoop, all the solid props of my life.
To stay financially afloat, I take on freelance administrative gigs in arguably the planet’s most frenzied and high-stakes city.
Weeks are busy, but weekends are poisoned with a high-octane cocktail of anxiety, guilt and confusion; I cannot seem to extricate myself from the tangled nest of viperous thoughts that paralyze me into a state of chronic despair. Have I done right in placing personal integrity above the comfort of family and economic security? Continue reading “Quiche, Coffee & The Morning Pages…”