I think of rivers I have to cross until I can reach safe ground and rest. There are the mini rivers, like a meeting I have to get through before I can go to lunch, or laundry I have to do before I can not do laundry for a few weeks. Then there are bigger rivers like work—it spans forty fucking years. The only points of respite here are slippery little rocks in the torrent.

The past few months have been the worst times of my life, and will get worse. I can’t see the other side of this river at all.

What I’ve learned though, is that even then, things could be a lot worse. That’s not very comforting, but its momentary buoyancy is useful to stop runaway, drowny thoughts.