One Hundred Names For Love: A Memoir - Plot & Excerpts
No longer dealing with the frustrations of teaching or publishing, he wasn’t waking up in a high blood pressure rage, or barely containing a volatile anger. When we met, he’d been a charming alcoholic with a violent temper, a James Joyce sort of artist with a sparkling gift for words. I’d grown used to never knowing when Paul would explode. But he wasn’t always combustible; most times he was quintessentially loving, a real sweetheart. The lurking land mine was part of a pattern: his unpredictable explosions, my fright and crying, our coming apart, his regret and promises, my forgiveness, our reunion. For years of our marriage, I’d walked on eggshells around him, because it took so little to trigger what he described as his “Irish temper.” Not now. Surprisingly, his temper vanished a few weeks after the stroke, when he became mellower, more patient, deeply appreciative, and I felt grateful for his new twist of mind. His struggles and goals weren’t competitive, he was swaddled in overt love and encouragement, and he was taking an antidepressant for the first time in his life (50 milligrams Zoloft).
What do You think about One Hundred Names For Love: A Memoir?
