Waiting to be important
I DIDN’T “GO” TO WORK ON THE morning of March 17, meaning I didn’t get up, brush my teeth and place myself at my desk in the living room. I stayed in bed, made a cave out of the covers and watched the text messages roll in. “Thinking of you.” “Sending love.” “No need to respond.”
It had been a strange and terrible night. I had watched an uplifting talk by a writer and friend, a survivor of sexual assault and a I wrote, After the virtual event, I sent her a text, congratulating her on yet another heartwarming talk.
