Hello my friends. I'm at my parents house, in one of my old rooms (age 6-10,) lying under the watchful eyes of Jesus. My mother blessed me with holy water like she would do when I was a child. Her faith and love is more touching than I can say.
Mandy is going to have her tonsils out soon - but not soon enough. Every jerking snort of her sleep apnea terrifies me. I have a prescription for a sleep study myself. I've left a message as instructed, but no one's called me back. Why do I have to always be such a squeaky wheel to get anything done? I'm tired.
I'm in the middle of Sometimes a Great Notion but I have a strong urge to read Atlas Shrugged again. My father mentioned the movie out of the blue tonight. He's never mentioned it before, so I assume he heard it on TV. I don't think he's ever read it. I'm still amazed at all the venom spewed at objectivism this year. I wonder if it came from both sides to discredit Ron Paul. Either way, I need my batteries recharged.
I'm letting the ideas for story number nine cook in my subconscious a little bit. I have wonderful ways of filling my mind with useless fears and anxieties. Sometimes I'm proud of the fact that I function. That's why I've always admired good people with great inner strength. Sometimes people are stronger than they give themselves credit for.
Take care of yourselves.