This change – whatever I do to respond to it – is upending my life.  The impact is just beginning to swell against the hard edges of dollars and sense.  Because to be a single, middle aged woman without career or financial achievement is to know how flimsy the guardrails are.  The margins of my day to day were so, so thin and I lived within them by the grace of eggs and cheese and coffee with cream – and being a housemate.

I can’t live like that anymore, and I am too mad to go down a road that only leads to more waiting.  There is no getting away from the heart-palpitating truth that these ends will not meet.  But it feels like there is nothing else to do, except risk what I have to keep moving forward, and hope the ancestors can see a path that has not become clear to me yet.