07
I lie in bed and, as my sleeplessness winds into the early morning hours, I think of my friend, Sam, who took his own life about eight years ago. I met him in 2007 when I went back to school to study professional writing and editing as a mature-age student – he was fifteen years younger than me, infinitely more talented than me at the same age (although he probably was regardless of age), intelligent, and funny (with a dry sense of humour). Once school had finished, we kept sporadically in touch over the years, and I always enjoyed his company. But I’m a misanthrope when it comes to everyday…
04
I lie in bed, the shock creating an unreality that obviates any tiredness. Earlier in the morning, my best friend’s husband rang to say that she had passed away suddenly and unexpectedly. The rest of the day unfolded in numbness. It’s cliché, but there aren’t many other ways to describe the response to such terrible news – it’s an impenetrable and unprocessable disbelief. Other things tumble faintly through my mind; I was meant to pursue a job prospect. Two years of Covid, lockdowns, mandates, et al, had left me unemployed, but an application for one job had opened another possibility in publishing. I had a couple of freelance writing gigs…