I used to have a friend who would call me every night at around 5 p.m. and immediately apologise for calling at–what she termed–suicide hour. It was at a stage when every hour just happened to be suicide hour … I had no preconceptions about any one particular hour, yet she made a point of calling to remind me what I should be thinking about at 5 p.m. when I was preparing dinner, tidying the house, running the bath and expressing breastmilk from a dwindling supply, all at the same time.
No surprises then that she used to be a friend.
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