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During the first pandemic year, in the middle of one August night, my writing process took a dramatic turn. On the way to the washroom, I walked forehead first into the closed oak door of my bedroom. I knew immediately it was bad. Took 2 Tylenol, got the icepack, and went back to bed, hoping I’d wake up in the morning. I know, you’re not supposed to do that, but who has their wits about them at 3 am. Pre-concussion, I had spent the last