Life keeps delivering blow after blow. If there really is a balance between good and bad, we’re due to win the lottery soon. My sister’s therapist says to allow ten minutes each day to indulge in pure, seething rage. I try it. Annoyingly, I still find upsides everywhere. Things could be worse, I think. Black mold in our apartment deepens our friendships. Living so far from family makes us prioritize each other more. Stress strengthens our marriage. I just want to be mad.

I don’t understand the point, I lament to my sister. One day, Mimi agrees, we’ll look back on this year and wonder how we got through it. 

Maybe life can’t be quantified into neat equations. Sometimes bad things just happen and there’s no upside. Still, I have to believe that things sort themselves out eventually, at their own pace and in their own way. My husband is suspicious of a cosmic plan. But how else could I carry on?