Category Literature

What I Learned from Victor Hugo and a 1941 Penny About Living with Narcolepsy

1941 Penny

My car is hot and the weeds at home hang heavy on my shoulders. It’s like that Fischer Price toy: you hit one plastic gopher with a mallet and another pops up a different hole. The weeds have conquered the yard while I frantically put out forest fires at work and home and work and home. My mind hasn’t worked well in a long time. Did it ever? Maybe this is normal. I tell myself to man up. These are just the pedestrian vicissitudes of a father-lawyer-husband. But the weeds mock my pep talk. Like that character in a book who cheats death and then death finds him. “Your days are numbered. You pretend to control it all, but the weeds don’t lie.” And why can’t I concentrate anymore? I put my client files in the back of my car, its AC long since failed, and head back to the office from court, weeds hanging heavy on my shoulders.

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Before You Sacrifice Your Queen

Chess Queen and King

He deferred to her, listening intently as she spoke. When she cried, his eyes were pained and he placed his hand on her back reassuringly.

It was a second marriage for both. Her ex had some undisclosed tax shenanigans that pre-dated the divorce. To make matters complicated, while they were still married but separated, husband #1 accepted service of important tax notices for his estranged wife (“It’ll go away if I ignore it, right?”). The divorce is finalized, years pass, and she remarries.

Then the tax man called. It’s a big number.

No scowls, no sidelong stares, no stiffly raised eyebrows from husband #2. This is not a “let’s march you down to the principal’s office, young lady” sort of visit. He gently passes her the box of Kleenex on my conference table. She hadn’t known she was bringing a financial demon into the marriage, but now through tears she asks: “Should I get a divorce?”

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