In January my new primary care doctor took my sleep meds away. I can lie in bed and worry that my scratchy throat is the first symptom of the upheaval my death will cause or I can read. I can sit up and watch my neighbors come and go, driving down to the end of the driveway, turning off their headlights at the mailboxes and waiting silently before reversing the activity and coming back up. I can worry about my son who is in week three of some respiratory illness but needs to be at work because his job is essential. Or, I can read.