NINE
I’ve lived alone for the past three years or so, and I was lucky that I didn’t have any roommates at all back home in Montreal.
There’s something about knowing without really knowing that there’s another person in my home, my lizard brain working on the problem at hand—trying to determine if it’s a friend or a foe.
I blink my eyes open, my black-out curtains doing their job a little too well, my whole body exhausted, and it’s a real struggle to keep my eyes open once my brain decides to come fully online.
The toilet is flushed out in the hall, and I hobble out of bed, groaning at my sore muscles, lamenting the fact that my foam roller is stored in the living room and I need it ASAP, but it’s just so far away.
I walk out of my bedroom with my eyes half-closed, dragging my hand alo
