What I Am is Because of What I Was: Memory and Fallacy

Eight years ago tonight, Eira drove me to LAX and put my drugged and confused self on a plane home to Monterey.  

The marriage was over, my cherished career was about to be gone, I was spiraling into madness, and my ex needed me far away from the children.

Six years ago today, living alone in a tiny illegal garage conversion in Beverly Hills, I wrote in m…