‘Tis the season of the welfie, that selfie hybrid where you take a photo of yourself working out at the gym. Admittedly, all the wave of welfies at the start of the year pushed me into a frenzy of yoga stretches, old ballet moves, pre-dinner brisk walking, and swimming in Gabby’s old tri-suits in frigid 6 AM pool water. It was, in Stingo’s words, a kind of “small-scale madness”. Well the photo above is not a welfie. I am not working out. In it I am gaunt and sleepless. I am not well. Something happened to us.