Monday, Monday, Monday.

Decaf in the French press, plus frothy vanilla oat milk.

Six hundred words.

I put on my mask and start to strip the bed, spray the pillows and mattress with Lysol, put on fresh everything, and throw the old stuff in the wash. I make him take another test just to be sure. Still positive.

She is having trouble finding the vein.

Insurance. But I think we both understand one another now. Please just send this referral to the other cardiologist.

Nervous, so nervous.

Seventeen total. It feels like a good amount, the right amount.

Maybe my math is off.

You can make the hard decision today, or make a hard decision tomorrow.