Forgive me, but

I have had a glass and a half of wine, and I am myself, my emotions near the surface.  No, my emotions are the surface.  They are the unhidden, unbidden me.



Lately my father has been leaving things at my house—old publications featuring stories of mine (Risk and Insurance magazine, let's say, where I was the Benefits columnist, a job I could do in the middle of the night so I could be a mom in the daytime).  Sometimes I look into my father's packages right away and sometimes I forget, and on...