Post #1 — The Fear
I am writing this from my office in our home. The room is about 100 square feet, but right now it is all pretty squished, as about 90 of those feet are taken up by The Fear. I'm about to turn 65. I have no idea if I'll ever be 66. I have five coronary stents, not so great lungs and I soak up germs better than a Bounty paper towel. My instinct tells me if the coronavirus comes by our door, unlike the plagues in the Passover story, it's not going to pass me by. In the meantime, however, we go on in isolation, atop a hill in the country. It's a good place to be if you want to give yourself the best chance to survive. I'm a writer. My sixth book is in a constant state of near completion despite some 40 years of work and research. The story of Alger Hiss and how he was wrongly convicted is my life's work, so there's an urgency to get it done, so if it comes to it I will be able to leave it behind. On the other hand, there's this crippling depression and...
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