What if My Prose and Poetry Were, In Fact, My Life’s Story? (Part Sixteen)

I hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning over not having spoken to Jenny. Her messages, touching in the first instances, became less so as time went by, then downright angry. I was never good at explaining things, certainly around any weakness I might have, and hearing a woman threatening to shoot me on sight was a little unnerving. Last night I had dinner in the hotel. An early night was on the cards, but sleep was elusive. I considered calling Jenny at three in the morning, knowing she would be dropping off the children to school. I didn’t. <a href="https://medium.com/the-memoirist/what-if-my-prose-and-poetry-were-in-fact-my-lifes-story-part-sixteen-967da2e2ce21">Learn More</a>