I’m sorry for the delay. I thought sending my proposal out would give me more time to write. Instead, it’s given me more time to think—which is far worse.

Lately I’m spinning between wondering if I’m getting divorced, pining for my husband like a Catholic schoolgirl, and trying to figure out what I can write that won’t blow up my life.

I’m not great at email security, and I can already picture the chain of doom: a forwarded email → someone’s aunt → my mother-in-law → a call to my husband → a passive-aggressive comment → me reminding him I asked for a break from her → him saying I can’t tell a man not to speak to his mother → me pointing out I can if she calls me a thirty-four-year-old f*cking nag. And on it goes.

So instead of writing, I pour a drink, close my laptop, and record a video. Talking is easier. Writing takes more out of me. Writing makes you think. And thinking usually goes to dark places. Instead, I am trying to look at the brightside.

Brightside things.

All four John Wicks are now streaming on Peacock. It’s a nice little thing I brought back from the psych ward—a new affection for Keanu Reeves and gratuitous violence.

Another brightside: I can fall asleep on my own now.