Love. I wasn’t ghosted (this time) but my last one recently said something incredibly cruel recently so it had to be over for good — especially since he didn’t even acknowledge it or apologize. Last night I got a text saying he hopes I don’t get the virus. I hope he doesn’t either, but I do know he’s in his drafty apartment eating his last Trader Joe’s frozen Buttered Chicken.

Me? I just made Alison Roman’s famous stew. I have fresh flowers everywhere, and am teleworking with a lab/shepherd mix at my side. If it weren’t for the Walking Dead episode we are all in, this would be bliss.

(Oh, and I didn’t text him back. Not sure what I could really say).

Federal attorney, writing thought crimes on Medium. To connect: