All’s quiet. The Girl is at a friend’s house, the Boy is taking a nap. I ran this morning, and broke 33 minutes for a 5K. My legs hurt, but I feel strong. The arrival of a fat paycheck coincided with the cranking out of two high-shooting pitches, envelopes now sealed and ready for the mailbox. There’s money in the bank accounts—Christmas is guaranteed; the house is full of food; the dishes and the laundry are clean; I’m drinking high-quality small-batch bourbon at four in the afternoon with a new volume of Lone Wolf & Cub in my lap, counting the hours ‘til a dinner date with dear beloved friends.
So tell me: Why am I so uneasy right now? Why, in the back of my head, am I so terribly, terribly afraid?
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