Have you ever been in a situation where you felt absolutely silenced? Where you’d said it all so many times nobody wanted to hear, or where the few people around you only gave you blank looks when you said something?

Where the best thing in your day was a hot shower, because at least there was reliably hot water in the shower if you didn’t try to take it at the end of a long line of leisurely showers?

Where you stared out the windows at a world covered in ice and snow, streets slick as bobsled runs, and you’d been staring out those windows for so long that seeing some stranger walking up the hill became a special event of your day and you watched until the person was out of sight, and you’ve read so many books until the thought of reading made your eyes cross and your mind scream: “No more substituting printed pages for living,” and the sound of a sand truck made you run to the window in anticipation?