I’m in the kitchen pouring rice into a cup when my husband asks a question. I look towards him but my brain can’t do two things at once. The rice hits the floor. Thousands of grains scatter under the counter, the oven, the fridge. I grab a broom but can’t focus. My neurons are in overdrive: dinner is late, I have to get downtown but I can’t drive that far and the 45-minute streetcar ride seems daunting.
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