It’s Kind of Like Dying
It’s down pouring. Daniel and I are sitting in our living room, which has windows on three walls and is tucked away in the trees of one of Montgomery’s oldest neighborhoods. To my left is a mound of papers classified as “important.” My feet are extended to the coffee table, resting on a pile of junk that is called “I Need to Deal with These Things Sooner Rather than Later.” On the floor sit two more piles: the no longer…