The Mood-Coaster (LiveJournal Post)

It was a truly busy day, what with a big test in calculus and tons of errands to run. And something about moving at such a tremendously frantic pace set the tone for the day. I couldn't hold still. I shook and jiggled and doodled and nibbled and anything else I could do to keep from holding still. I was just... antsy. Finally, after jiggling, wriggling, and doodling as much as I could bear, I begged Christine to go grocery shopping with me.

Did I need to go grocery shopping? Well.... yes and no. Yes, I was short on healthy food, out of fresh veggies entirely, no milk to be had. But no. This is my week of no kids... I could have made do. I prolly /should/ have made do, to be honest. But the draw of getting out and moving while doing something semi productive was worth it.

So we went to the store. Something about the store sucked my brain, had to go back to the produce department 4 times... 4 times! because I kept forgetting things. By the time we were done, I was done too. Stick a fork in me done. Exhausted like I had run a marathon done. Almost unable to talk coherently done. And now, less than an hour later, I have finally dragged ass to put the $55 worth of groceries away. I am so tired I want to just curl up in a a little ball and sleep. Make moan-y sounds at anyone who tries to wake me.

I feel like the graph of a sine wave. Up and down, up and down, check me and I repeat every 2π.

*sigh* I'm not even sure that actually made sense at all...

Rough Night Last Night (LiveJournal Post)

Climbed into bed, sleepy and ready to snooze... and my brain starts going. A very vivid picture. I can't say I was entirely asleep, because I wasn't, so it wasn't a dream really... but maybe it was a little bit.

We were at the airport and I was having to say goodbye to Tristan. I was having to leave him behind... and I started to cry. And I didn't stop. Crying became sobbing, became braying and howling with tears and snot dripping from my nose, wet face wet pillow wet neck. I went and held Tristan in his bed until he muttered and moaned and pushed me away in his sleep. It wasn't enough. I cried and cried and cried... and I don't remember falling asleep. I don't remember stopping crying.

I think this is so sad because I know it is true. I know it is coming, that it will happen. And I know I'm doing the right thing for him and Ash and me... but I wonder if I am my mother, who left when I was 5 and never came back until I was a teen, who left me to be abused and battered and ruined as a kid.

I know I'm different. I know that I won't give up involvement in Tristan's life. I know that I will talk to him and see him as often as I can and that he will NEVER stop being my son. I know that, in my perfect world, there would be no way I would leave him if I had ANY other option - and that fact, right there, makes me different than my mother. She COULD have taken us, but chose not to. I don't have a choice. He is not really mine.

In the end it will be better for him and me to take away the power of holding that fact over my head. If it is not something that can be used as a weapon, then he can't be caught in the middle. If I'm not so close to Kim, then we can't fight where he gets caught in the middle. He won't be so torn for us being too close and caught in this epic battle of who controls whom. And I need to cut the ties to being controlled by her and Brian more than almost anything else in my life. I need to stop letting them have that kind of power over me.

Maybe I am just seeking reassurance that I am doing the right thing. Maybe I just need to hear that I am not a horrible mom and that I am doing the right thing. And to have my hand held while I have to walk away from him at the airport. That will be the hardest day of my life, I think.

Sometimes it hurts how much I love my kids.

House Update (LiveJournal Post)

It's too small, namely in the aspect of the bedroom that would be Ashley's. There are no bathTUBS in the house, only showers. Plus corners are rounded, the roof on the top floor slopes low onto the wall, and there is a tight spiral staircase to the upper levels. Stephen thinks it would be a problem getting furniture into it. It almost seems like they /tried/ to make as much space as possible unusable.

He said that there were no restrictions on children, but that the realtor guy said, "Are you sure the bedroom is large enough for a child's room?" He said that in and of itself was enough to raise flags. Obviously this place was not meant to be a family home, but that of a couple, sans children.

It's really really a shame, it was in the /perfect/ location, close enough to everything we could have wanted it to be close to.

Want pictures?

The small bedroom that would have been Ashley's. This is almost the entirety of the bedroom. small...



The kitchen, part of the living room, which is L shaped. The kitchen is just a bit bigger, but the white thing next to the black thing is the refrigerator. I am going to have some adjusting to do, as Stephen says this is the standard size of fridge that comes with homes there. We could put a bigger fridge in the corner behind the dinette there, but it isn't a corner, but is angled across



See what I mean about strange space? This is the main bedroom on the top of 3 floors. And it is actually quite small also.

What Love /Really/ Is (LiveJournal Post)

I say 'I love you' a lot. To a lot of people. And I mean it. I say it to Stephen all the time, and he does not say it back as often. He tells me, but it doesn't flow out of his mouth like breath like mine do. And that's ok, I never mind. It's not really even anything I've thought about before. I have always been 'more loving' than others, from the time I was born.

But today I was floored and humbled by the awakening that I had with Stephen. (You all are going to get tired of hearing me talk about him, I think... Sorry.) It started from IM, as it usually does since that is how we talk in the mornings while he is at work.

Amy: is there even an amtmux anymore?
Stephen: sometimes...
Stephen: but with no-one on
Amy: the last time i tried to log on it wasnt there.
Stephen: i just tried.. and it's not
Amy: It makes me a little sad, with all of esther's things there.
Stephen: :(
Stephen: if you're that concerned.. you can ask ivar for a flatfile of the game.. and I could run it somewhere

I almost wanted to cry. 'I love you's' dont mean squat to this. I was instantly aware of what he was /really/ saying... he was saying that he loves me enough to host a silly game because it means something to me because of a dead friend. Not even because of all of the memories that he and I share there... just because of Esther.

Amy: you know, baby - that was really sweet of you.
Stephen: what is?
Amy: to offer to take the amtmux and run it just for my sentimental reasons.
Stephen: *smiles*
Amy: It made me feel very loved. and I wanted to tell you.
Amy: thank you
Stephen: you're welcome

From my journal to him: "Sometimes love is not how often 'I love you's' are said. Sometimes love is not the sex and control and passion. This is an even bigger love. And some people gloss over things like this, little things that mean I love you. I don't want to be a person who glosses over them. This type of I love you means more, because it is not blatant, it is easy to pass over and miss."

I can't believe this hit me so hard. I'm crying, being sappy and sentimental and crying for feeling so overwhelmed by emotion. Silly girl, silly girl Amy.

Amy: you know what else makes me all sappy sentimental about the amtmux?
Stephen: what?
Amy: lemonland
Stephen: lol
Amy: you used to sneak me away and hide me from everyone else.
Amy: greedy.
Stephen: Yup
Amy: does that mean you could be considered ultimately greedy, since you have now snatched me away from the rest of the real world too?
Stephen: yup
Amy: are you happy being so very greedy, lovely?
Stephen: yup
Amy: *kisses and giggles* wanna know a secret?
Stephen: yup
Amy: *whispers in your ear* I'm happy you are so very greedy too.

The Update (LiveJournal Post)

I know all million of you who read this are dying to know what happened next. Nosey bastards. ;)

The guy, whose name is Graham, with whom I had the interview (major accent - it took me a moment to snap into 'English accent deciphering mode) called me about 5 minutes before I was expecting him to. Which means I jumped out of my skin when the phone rang. I was already a bundle of nerves, but suddenly my breathing was laboured and I was sweaty. My heart was pounding in my chest. I thought it might explode for a moment. I really was terrified.

He was very friendly, introduced himself, then passed the phone to a lady named Claire, who was the Department Head for the Third Year. I had an additional moment of panic when I wondered if it was the same Claire that works with Stephen. Obviously not thinking right, because he doesn't even work at this university. It wouldn't have mattered if she was the same Claire anyway, she wouldn't have known who I am at all. It was just panic, plain and simple.

So he asks me questions. Not many, and simple ones like "Why do you want to come to school here" (blahblahblah its the best university ever..) "What make you want to be a teacher" (I actually told the truth on this one, though I later thought up a better answer. I said that I didn't at first, but that as time came on and I got sucked into it, I realised that I really liked it and that I was good at it.) He asked me why I wanted to teach in England, and I got to throw in my global perspective commentary and managed to avoid stating something like I want the hell out of the US. He asked about my teaching philosophy and about my experience.

I think it safe to say that I blew him away. After each answer I would give he would say something like "Oh, excellent answer, my my,yes, most excellent". He was stunned silent a time or two, and made comments about my seriously hefty amount of experience. I got to talk about critical pedagogy, and mentioned all of the work I have done with inclusion and early childhood.

He told me when it was my turn to ask questions that the only reason that I wasn't in the third year was because they could not give me a degree without my going through the second year. That he thinks some of my classes will still transfer, and that the second year should be pretty easy for me. He said that he was excited to have me, that he looked forward to meeting with me as soon as I could get there.

Here was Stephen's response...

Amy (6/11/2007 7:18:31 AM): He said they are excited about having me.
Stephen (6/11/2007 7:18:58 AM): that's good
Amy (6/11/2007 7:19:03 AM): and that it was a shame that he can't put me in the third year.
Stephen (6/11/2007 7:19:06 AM): i knew they'd love you
Amy (6/11/2007 7:19:16 AM): you /knew/?
Amy (6/11/2007 7:19:21 AM): how did you know that?
Stephen (6/11/2007 7:19:25 AM): well you're amazing

Aww! how sweet!

Anyway, it went very well and I feel emotionally better. I can physically still feel the effects of the nervousness... my back aches. I think I might curl up in bed and rest, work on my study guide for the math test tomorrow, and spend time with me. And maybe Stephen. Or whoever else I happen to talk to.

This Morning (LiveJournal Post)

Once again I am up early. Actually, though, that is deceptive. 'Early' is a subjective term. I was actually supposed to be up at 4, but didn't actually manage to GET up until 5. I'm tired. I am a little concerned with how tired I have been lately. It seems harder and harder to get up in the mornings, and forget any sort of conversation between Stephen and I that doesn't involve my begging him for more time to sleep. Lucky for me he is busy at work lately, so he doesn't seem to mind.

This morning, however, I fought myself to get up early. I have an interview at 7 am. With the Department Head of the Second Year Programme at Canterbury Christchurch University. See, and this is still partially hush hush, as I haven't posted the 'big announcement', I was accepted. But not into the Third Year like I had hoped, but the Second Year. I was told last week. Then they threw this interview at me. With the Department Head. And told me, "It's ok, Dearie (yes, dearie... that was what she said...) it will be fine." And now I am a bit in a panic. Does it mean that there is still a chance they won't accept me? But I've already told both Kim and Brian and the shit has already hit the fan. I can't go backwards... and I don't want to.

Anyway, I'm terribly nervous. A little over an hour until the interview and I feel like I have 2 options - bomb it and screw my future on a few levels, or ace it. In my imagination it gets me into the Third Year. And yet I am even mixed up about that. I am not eligible for a spousal visa until I have lived with Stephen for 2 years. If I /do/ get into the third year, and I don't find a job very quickly after graduation, then I can't stay. If I stay in the second year, it costs significantly more in tuition, but I will be there 2 years, and eligible for that spousal visa afterwards, taking some of the pressure off of me finding a job that will support a work visa that quickly. But I'd like to finish this degree already. I'm tired of /still/ working on a stupid bachelors degree. I want to move onto something that seems more productive. A Masters degree, maybe. Or *gasp* actually teaching.

Stephen says that this interview is just a formality. I can't really comprehend that an interview with a DEPARTMENT HEAD is a formality. He may be right, but he also said that /he/ would be terrified if he were in my shoes. And that just makes me feel all the more comfortable. Yeah right.

I just have to hold onto the thought that the world is perfect and things happen as they should. This won't stop my moving (yay positive knowing!).


*sighs* 1 hour to go until that interview. Nervous....

Nightmare... (LiveJournal Post)

I am a vivid dreamer. This is the biggest reason that I don't like living by myself. There is no one there when the nightmares come. And they do come, a lot. I have nightmares a lot. The worst ones are the ones that I can't get out of, the ones where I finally wake myself up by screaming in my sleep. Those are bad. But the painful ones, the /really/ painful ones that I can never seem to forget, are the ones that are so sad that I cry in my sleep. Sometimes even cry myself awake.

Just now I woke up crying from a nightmare. A bad, painful one.

My grandmother, whom I love very much, is dying of Alzheimer's. In my dream, I went to the nursing home to have lunch with her. She didn't recognize me. I had Boo with me and he was scared by the situation, and it got bad enough that I had to leave before I planned to in order to take him home. So I kissed grandma goodbye and I walked with her back to her bed. There were really long green cords attached to her, and she had to drag them along with her. They must have been heavy, just for the sheer length of them. They trailed out of sight behind her in the corridor. When I got grandma back to her her I bent down and gave her a kiss and told her that I loved her, and she grabbed onto me and started screaming. She couldn't speak well, it was mostly few words, but it was screaming in my ear, and at first I couldn't understand her... but then it was her begging me to take her home, to get her out of there, please please don't leave, Mamy... and she shocked me when she called me Mamy, grandma doesn't call me Mamy so I looked down at her and it wasn't grandma, it was Katie, and she was screaming at me and she was her baby size but she was so old and wizened and they were grabbing her arms to rip her away from me and strapping her down onto her bed and she was screaming... so I wrapped her in my arms and held her so tight and I started to cry in my dream. She held onto me and looked in my eyes and said "bow... Mamy.... bow...." and I asked her if she wanted a bow and a ribbon for her hair and she started to cry these great big huge tears from her huge eyes staring at me and nodded and I was sobbing now in my dream so hard and they wouldn't let me take her home and I had to go, Boo was screaming in terror in the background, and I told her I loved her and I had to let her go and walk away as katie/grandma screamed "Mamy! Mamy!" in the distance and I woke up just sobbing, my face already soggy from how much I had been crying.

Every time I have a crying dream in the last few months it is about grandma. I know I'm sad about it, I feel guilty that I can't/don't get up there to see her more. But I woke up convinced that she is in my head on purpose. Not to hurt me or scare me, but just because she misses me. I want to go and see her, but I'm scared to. I can't ask her if she is coming into my dreams on purpose. I really needed someone to talk to about it, but Stephen must be busy because he didn't answer when I texted his phone, and Kelli didn't answer hers. I hate waking someone just for a nightmare. But what I need, what I really need, is to be able to wrap myself in someone's arms and sob it out when I wake from a dream like this. I am going to have to do some work to keep this from clinging to me all day long.

God, my heart aches. Sometimes I hate dreams. I want to stop crying now...

Dream... (LiveJournal Post)

I was at my moms house for a family gathering, They were all mad at me and not talking to me... so I decided to become an insect lawyer. I was representing this very pretty white leaf like insect who also happened to be deadly poisonous. She kept threatening to bite me, and I was scared of her. But she was really pretty.


This is what she looked like, but white white, and not as big, with about 100 legs underneath, completely flat, and a bit more delicate. Anyway, I was not doing a very good job representing her, and she was going to lose, so I tucked her into my pocket and helped her escape. She told me that she wanted something (this is the part of the movie where one character whispers in the others' ear, and the scene changes before you know what was said...)

I tuck the insect under a blanket and tell her to hide there and stay put, then I go. Suddenly, I'm in a pharmacy, and I have to crawl over a huge piece of furniture to get to the window, where I explain that I am an insect anthropologist and that I need a syringe for dispensing medication to children because the insect wants milk and minestrone soup. The pharmacists gets all excited, and tells me to hold on, runs to the back, and comes out about 10 minutes later with a bowl of chili. He tells me to try his minestrone soup. Its not minestrone, its chili! I make excuses and remind him about the syringe and he gives it to me but pouts as I walk off.

I get home with milk and minestrone soup mix in a bag, and start cooking. I rescue the insect, who has been trying not to drown in a puddle of water that has appeared in my bed under the covers. I watch as she balances all her feet on top of the water and floats. The cat apparently pushed her into it. I get her a graduated cylinder of milk and fill the syringe, but she dives in head first to drink it all. Then I bring in the minestrone, which I also made with milk. Then Stephen sent me a text saying he loves me and his mum and Norbert are there and they were going out. This, of course, woke me and the dream ended.

Everything was fine, but I got the willies when looking up pics of the insect to link here, so I think it might have been a nightmare. I'm scared of leaf bugs, now. :(

And Christine... I want to go to the farmers market too!

My Day, Looking Backwards. (LiveJournal Post)

I am craving spinach today. Spinach and peanut butter. I can't seem to get enough of either. I catch myself with a spoon, dipping into the peanut butter jar, then follow it up with raw spinach like a cow chewing cud. It must be disgusting.

I know why I do it. It's the protein and the iron. I generally crave raw spinach. During the period of months that there was none available because of the salmonella problem, I thought I was going to die. I was craving it so bad I might have eaten it and taken the risk.

The peanut butter is the last month or so, and I think it might be the protein, and because of the fact that I have cut meat out of my diet drastically. Yes, I still eat meat, but maybe 2 or 3 times a week versus daily. It is supposed to be healthier that way. I don't know, if I am craving protein.

Yes, I'm beating around the bush. I'll stop now and tell you what you want to know. My day.

It actually started off pretty good. Busy, anyway. Dar surprised me by getting here around 8.15 while I was making breakfast for Boo. (Malt o' Meal with sugar - always reminds me of when I was a little girl. My dad used to make it for me) She was rarin' to go work on the storage unit, and I DID tell her that I would go help. We actually made it out of the house by 9.15, dropped Boo of with Chris, then went to town. We threw away an entire dumpster of crap. It felt good. I came back with a few things, but the most important was a box. A white box with blue stripes. A falling apart box, by this time. It holds all of the letters and cards and love notes and trinkets that have ever been sent to me. And some I have written and never sent. I have waited to do anything with all of the letters and cards from Kim because of wanting this box. This is where they will go. A graveyard, I suppose, of love.

I had an appointment to have my hair cut. (No, just a trim... not cut off) which I was late too because a very tired boo was too busy throwing a fit to go to sleep. He is almost 6 and still does not do well without a nap. He just can't keep himself together when he is even a bit tired. So I ended up leaving him screaming, and was stressed all the way to the hairdressers. And I even felt a bit uncomfortable there. Not that she did anything, I was just feeling the beginnings of unwelcome and loser that come around this time.

I ran away as fast as I could, looking forward to hiding at home.... and things happened.

Finally... Ah.... silence. Boo outside playing, silence. So I sit and start going through old letters in my box. Mistake. Alarm is going off in my brain and I ignore it. Bwap Bwap Bwap! 10 minutes later I'm sobbing and feeling so freaking lonely, like I am a terrible person to have treated all these people this way, totally unlovable, sobbing so much that my collar on my shirt is wet.

I spent the rest of the night trying to pick up the pieces.

I am doing this by drawing. I have started a piece, and so far it really gets my lavalampymorosetwisted thing in my head. Maybe I'll share it when I'm done. But don't laugh. I can't draw.

So no period yet... maybe this is the worst day, which means I should start in about 3 days. It's a bad month.
I don't think it helped that Stephen and I did not talk at all today.

Speaking of, thanks Andrea for reminding me to update you all on that topic. Christine mentioned the other night as I was whining to her about it, "Does he not realize that loans are the only way a person can go to college anymore?" And it made me think - maybe he DOESN'T know that. Maybe this is one of those weird cross-cultural miscommunication thingies. So I talked to him about it. And it was. He says that he can't imagine owing the 20,000 that I owe as it stands right now, but that he understands. It bothers him, though. There, a bachelors degree doesn't work like this. I don't really understand how it /does/ work, but that's ok. The bottom line is that it concerns him how much money it is, but he sees that 16000 is less than the 24000 I expect to borrow to finish my degree here, and I can look into them. I won't though, until I hear back from the university. Monday I'll send them an inquiry email again.

So this is my long ranty whiny post about my PMS days. I'm ok - don't worry about me, but do love me. I think you guys are the best friends I could have. And I want to keep you. Thanks for checking up on me tonight, Andrea.

Maybe tomorrow I'll tell you about the storm.

And tomorrow is Strawberry jam day! Tristan, Fiona, and I are making jam! Yummy yummy! What time??? Christine, what time do I get Fi and from where???

Love you guys...

This mornings Dream... (LiveJournal Post)

It was the end of the school year, and there was a big party. I was supposed to be gone, but I just kept going back, over and over again. I would leave and find a reason to go back. I kept going back until everyone was gone except Sergio, the other teacher. He told me I should get married. At one point during this going back theme, I was playing with a cute little blonde girl, her dad arrived and I wouldn't give her to her dad. I was insistent that she keep playing, and she kept looking over her shoulder at her dad. She obviously wanted him, and to go, but I wouldn't let her.

When I finally did leave, I decided to go to my dad's. When I arrived, there was a riot on the street: but the riot was Amtgard. Everyone was fighting each other in garb and with padded swords. I was with Kenny, hiding in the back of my dad's truck, peeking our heads over to watch when someone came up behind us and threw a dagger at my back. Kenny got mad and jumped out of the truck and was suddenly in garb and just another part of the riot, so I got in my car and left to my dad's house. (I know, I know - it was confusing. I /was/ at my dad's house, but now I'm going to my dad's house.) I drove into the mountains, and the doors on the tunnel had been bent into this shape by the wind: ). They were huge thick metal doors, and I thought it was odd, but kept going.

I finally got to his house, a beautiful A frame nestled under tall huge trees. It aged in front of my eyes in minutes, until it looked old and worn out, and my dad came out and told me he was getting around to fixing it up. He went back in, and I was standing on the porch holding onto the railing looking at the trees when I noticed the biggest one was going to snap in half. I could see the bulge where it had already started. I decided to warn my dad, but before I could, it snapped and fell... in slow motion, crushing the house in the middle, right beside me, sliding toward me, me thinking I'm going to die by being pinned to the house by this tree, and I jump in slow motion... and land on top of it. My heart is pounding, I'm panting, I can't hold myself up... and my dad comes out surprised.

Anyone want to guess what it means?

It's Official... (LiveJournal Post)

My house is clean.

I don't know if I feel better, but I'm tired and I'm sore from busily cleaning my fool head off. All that is left is some laundry I left hanging on the line. I'm too freaking tired to get it off.

While I may not know if I feel emotionally better yet, at least I feel like I can breathe in my own house again. And now I won't be quite so apologetic when people come over to visit.

What's in my Head... (LiveJournal Post)

Today my head is filled with images of paintings. Big bold colours, minute details of abstraction and in-depth renderings of complex doodles. I feel driven to paint and draw and fiddle, and frustrated that I do not think that I have the ability. But I do, I know I do.

It is like watching a lava lamp, and the glowing blobs of goo are what I want on paper, but filled with lines and dots and eruptions of colours.

*sigh* But I really should keep plugging on cleaning and rearranging the house.

Which will win? Practicality and clean-the-housedness? Or the strong fishing line of creation that has its' hook in my cheek?

dunnodunnodunno....

7:45 AM - Morning. (LiveJournal Post)

I dream a lot.

I used to write down my dreams every night. And I remembered even more of them when I did. I have books and books of them written down. With everything going on, it seems that waking up to write down my dreams is just too much effort, so I don't remember as many. But I still dream.

I think that my dreams mean something, though sometimes it seems that they are nothing more than my brain making up for the fact that I don't watch movies. Not that I am EVER able to figure out what they mean.

Anyway, I had a dream last night. A frivolous dream, I thought, until I told Stephen about it this morning. He said it wasn't a very good dream. It didn't seem that bad to me, but I guess that would depend on your perspective. You see, I have A LOT of nightmares. Wake Up Screaming nightmares. Nightmares that are sticky and I can feel and remember them hours later. Nightmares during which I cry in my sleep.

I have nightmares so bad that while I was with Stephen in England, one night he slapped me awake, and it was wonderful. I needed and wanted him to. Because it got me out of it.

Ok, so last nights dream, as told to Stephen this morning:

Amy: I was taking a class and the final exam was to go out and be the first one back with a newsworthy story...
Amy: and there were hundreds of people in the class
Amy: so a mad rush to get out of the building
Amy: so many people that I`was having to climb down the sides of the stairwell
Amy: and you met me at the bottom.
Amy: we walked in the parking lot, and I thought about doing a story on the bumper stickers of the cars in the parking lot, and hypothesising presidential election results based on political bumper stickers
Amy: when a guy from the class drove his car into a crowd of people, then jumped out and ran into the building to write a story on it.
Amy: and i was in such shock. i couldn't make the phone work. so you dialed 911 for me.
Amy: and it jumped ahead
Amy: and the guy apparently had a son, whom we adopted.
Amy: who hated us, and the dream ended with the three of us outside talking about how his dad would never get out of prison
Stephen: not that great a dream
Amy: and him plotting to kill us and attempt a prison break.
Stephen: eek
Amy: it was like a cliff hanger movie.


The guy had driven his car through a chain link fence and into a huge crowd of people, killing as many as he could. There was blood and screaming and all kinds of mayhem. And he jumped out of his car and left it there in the midst of all the destruction and death and ran in to write about his newsworthy story.

At the end, when the son is plotting to kill us, the three of us are standing beside a well. He has a piece of foam core board and an X-acto knife and is cutting a shape out of the interior of the foam core board while he is questioning Stephen and I about his father. I thought it was going to be a person shape at first, but it ended up being a very sloppy giant X.


Spending time with you the other day, Christine, made me stop to ponder the fact that there was a well. But I still have no clue what it means.