In other news…

 Okay, I’m officially done watching the news and going forward, I am seriously just going to pretend he’s dead.

In other news, Gary and I have been so involved in projects lately, I haven’t had time to promote my new book. If you haven’t snagged one yet, here’s the link:  https://a.co/d/dPxFnWN

I really appreciate the reviews my kind friends have left on Amazon and Goodreads. Thanks so much! 

Also, pretty cool, my publisher made me a trailer:

https://youtu.be/GWBucuUALt0?feature=shared

Finally, here’s an excerpt to maybe tempt you further?

I open my eyes, and I'm in a darkened space with neon green and red lights blinking. Cat Stevens is singing "Peace Train.”  Every so often, there's a beep that doesn't jibe with the music. A beautiful African American woman is standing over me speaking softly. She seems so familiar and comforting, but something is different.

Oh my god, it's my mother.

"Mom? Is that you? You're African American now?"

I knew this is what heaven would look like.

Everyone is over-the-top beautiful and there's not a Caucasion in sight.

The Republicans are going to be so pissed.

Oh, wait, what am I thinking, they're not going to heaven, they'll never find out. Damn!

My beautiful Nubian mother angel lets out a delighted laugh, which sounds like tiny, tinkling bells.

"Oh honey, I'm not your mama. But it's good to hear you talking. Can you tell me your name?"

She's holding a clipboard and a pen.

Heaven has paperwork?

"My name is Linda," I offer weakly.

"Linda, can you tell me your birthday and where you live?"

I answer like a dutiful child. 

"August 17 and 909 Penny Lane, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania."

I blink a few times, allowing my eyes to adjust. I'm lying on a gurney?

A sign over the door reads RADIOLOGY.

Holy fuck, I'm not dead, I'm in a hospital. How did I get here?

I struggle to sit up and look around frantically. Joey! 

Where's Joey? Were we in an accident? Is he okay?

What happened?

Think, Linda. Think.

I'm consumed with terror.

"Honey, honey, it's okay," the nurse croons. "I'll have the attendant take you to your room now. We just took some blood and a few pictures." She pats my hand reassuringly. "Your husband is already there waiting for you.”

Thank god. Joey is okay.

They wheel me into a private room. Oy vey.

Whatever happened to me resulted in an inpatient stay? 

At a time when they remove your gallbladder as an outpatient and throw you in the street an hour after you have a baby?

Uh-oh.

Joey stands nervously as the attendant moves me to the bed, his face pale at the sight of the I.V. I muster a weak smile and whisper "Hi," though tears prick my eyes. I feel floaty, less frantic than I should, maybe thanks to the drugs.

"Linda! Oh god, I've been so worried," Joey says, his voice catching.

"What happened? How did I get here? I can't remember anything. Why am I in a hospital?"

"I called 911 screaming like a lunatic. They sent an ambulance, and thank god they got to the house immediately. You were out cold."

He takes a breath and continues. "I don't know what happened. You felt a little sick at dinner but then you seemed better. We said goodbye to Bob and Marcy. I started to tell you something, and the next thing I knew, your eyes rolled back in your head and you crashed to the floor…hard. I was terrified you cracked your skull open. What the hell happened?" Joey clutches the bed railing until his knuckles turn white. "Are you sick?"

I shrugged. "I have no clue. Maybe I smoked too much weed?"

"That would be a first," Joey cracks. We laugh, and he looks so relieved. We prefer that explanation to any alternatives.

A nurse walks into the room and takes my vitals. "They're looking over your test results now," she states in a crisp, no-nonsense tone. "The doctor should be in to speak with you shortly." She turns on her heel and leaves before we can ask any more questions, nothing like the angel I met in radiology when I first woke up.

Joey and I look at each other fearfully. A heavy blanket of dread covers us. Joey furrows his brow and pats my hand. 

"Linda, listen to me. You fainted because you didn't eat all day and you smoked too much weed," he whispers.

Why is this reminding me of the time Joey tried to blame the upstairs bathroom sink leaking through the kitchen ceiling on the steam from his boiling pasta? Joey can't handle anything bad happening. He can't even acknowledge it. I'm not so good at it myself. I don't want to alarm him, but I realize I still don't feel well. The floaty situation I'm having might not be from medication I may or may not have been given. Added to that, I have a tight knot of anxiety in my stomach that’s making me nauseous.

After (what seems like) several hours (but is probably only fifteen minutes), the doctor arrives with a nurse, pushing what looks like a computer on a wheeled cart.

It is a computer.

The doctor introduces himself and without waiting for us to reply, pulls the computer closer.

"Let me show you what you have going on here," he purses his lips and points to the screen.

It's filled with a picture of a human heart.