Nothing was working out that year. My husband had just switched careers at the height of the recession, and we were flat broke. Though my first novel had been published and well received, everything I wrote since then had turned to dust.
One of my children had come down with a rare illness – manageable, curable, yes, but it was serious enough that it felt like a plague, took out our kishkes tending to her. On top of it, everything in the house was breaking. Pipes were bursting right and left, and even the toilet clogged every third time it was flushed. When you can’t even count on your toilet flushing, the world seems black.
I got a call from a friend who said, “This is all about the evil eye.” I imagined her sipping her bancha tea in her apartment as she said this.
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