A Solution in Painter’s Tape
My Argentine American father always says: “If there’s a solution, there’s no problem. If there’s no solution, there’s still no problem.” He didn’t understand why my obsessive-compulsive disorder was telling me I couldn’t look at the time anymore, or why I had to swallow six times for each minute I saw pass on the clock. Skeletal under my cardigan, I peeked out from my bedroom and met his eyes. He got up silently, stuck three layers of painter’s…
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