1. My husband is not a cockroach.
If I had woken up next to Kafka’s “monstrous vermin,” I would have run and sprayed an entire can of Raid into the bedroom. As it was, I thought the six foot rabbit crouched under the covers was a very elaborate (it even included nose twitching) joke, even though it wasn’t Easter, April Fools, or Halloween. Nor had David ever done anything remotely similar in our twelve years of marriage. It was only when he didn’t come down for breakfast that I started to worry. Continue reading “Disability, Death, or Other Circumstance,” by Annaliese Lemmon