“Howard said I’ve given up on life,” I blurted out, another of those times I didn’t know I was going to speak. “Bit harsh.” “I thought so. Well, not in those words. He said I was an obituary writer who didn’t know how to live.” Tim said nothing, a habit of his in conversation, knowing that I would fill the void. “I know how to live,” I said. “I’m just … I’m in a transitional phase, according to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.”
