Tuesday night was odd. My head felt wooshy when I turned it all the way left or right, but not when I did it just a bit. My shoulders ached. I found myself gazing at the kitchen sink, its stack of glasses and plates and the bits of food I’d scraped off them, the green ruffled heads of strawberries and a few olive pits, with zero will to clean, though, thinking of my future self, the…
