A small recovery

I just spent two solid beautiful hours alone in my room. It was luxurious. I crawled into bed fully clothed; I read three short stories by Alice Munro, each of them pleasantly disturbing. I watched the light change across the rounded ceiling of the room through the window facing south. I half-listened to the rousing game of hide-and-seek the boys played with The Girls (the reason I’d fled to my room in the first place), to Gabriel teaching John the ins and outs of a game on the iPad in which the objective is to get a snail from here to there without being scorched or impaled or falling off a cliff. For short spells I slept.

It felt like recovery.


One thought on “A small recovery

  1. Pingback: Zoloft and gin | Blue Dog

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