Today I am going to begin turning the tide. Today I am going to get a foothold, if only the tiniest bit, of Normal. I’m going to start by washing clothes and carefully hanging them on the line to dry in the blessedly cooler breeze. I’m going to continue by mixing a batch of bread dough to sit and warm on the counter for 1.5 hours, then I’m going to walk to the garden, peering though a pinhole so as to focus only on the arugula and not the monstrosity that awaits another day’s work, and I’m going to harvest a bowl of those spicy leaves in one swift motion of my knife. I will return to the house and ready the kitchen to prepare supper, the first supper I will have made in I-don’t-know-how-long. Together, we will make and eat supper. More clothes will find their way to the clothesline; hopefully many more will be folded and returned to their stations. I will snatch up my pug, the only one I have left now, and bury my nose in his kissing spot, the curious bald diamond at the top of his head which spelled love at first sight 10 years ago. I will snatch up my children and bury my nose in the sweet junction of neck and shoulder, and kiss them till they giggle. I will snatch up my husband and hold on for dear life. I will sweep the floor. I will let loose the stranglehold of bad luck first by righting our ship. By grounding our home. Then I will regain my equilibrium, by clothespin and knife, and we will ascend from this black cloud. It is the longest day of the year; there is time.