My name is Judy. You see me here in a self-portrait by proxy. My night table is me today. I am not at my color-between-the-lines best in this picture. Just unguarded during a week in which my brother died and the wrong candidate, Donald Trump got elected president. Yes, I am an American. Apologies for the Trump thing. There are pill bottles on the table for thyroid, blood pressure and an industrial size container of ibuprofen for the aches and pains acquired during the rough and tumble of six plus decades. Lens cleaner for reading glasses and no-line trifocals. Lotion for dry skin. Lip balm for dry lips. The old gray mare. There is also a little notebook and several pencils on the table. The notebook is a promise to myself. To write.