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This book is an incoherent mess. The author rambles and rants about her fixation on the burglary of jewelry that she inherited from her grandmother and never wore, and efforts to find and retrieve it, and her obsession with the death by suicide of a former supervisor, colleague and friend. The later borders on mental illness.

The book swings endlessly from one to another for no apparent reason with some casual links between them.

Within the text are sections such as her biography of her friend, and the early portion of her segment on the Covid shutdown, that standing alone would have made good extended magazine essays. However, jumbled together they make little or no sense other than to make the reader think that the author is in serious need of help from a mental health professional, and the book requires an editor.