It’s one week before the 2020 election, and amid surging coronavirus and the prospect of a political coup, my package gets lost in transit. I’d like to say it’s a trigger for all the stress and anxiety of this past year, the isolation and protests and political corruption and fear and death, but my lost package is just a trigger for itself. I stand at the kitchen sink with all the doors and windows closed and scream a scream vastly disproportionate to my harm. The dogs hide cowering in the bedroom. The cats are nonplussed.