Hard Beat

As I begin to walk out of my room, for some random reason I’m compelled to turn back and pick up a pad of paper. In a moment of indecision, I toy with the edge of the paper, thankful for the first time ever that our living accommodations are without housekeeping services, because that means no one will ever see this unless something happens to me. Moment of indecision over, I go with my gut and jot down where I’m going and whom I’m meeting with. It’s something I have never done before in all of my years in the danger zone, but after Stella’s death, I feel a whole lot less invincible than I used to.