#313

Four weeks of intense hours and even worse sleep deprivation...four more weeks to go.

Where Is My Mind? - Pixies

I come home broken, beaten, bruised. And there's a package in my mailbox...a simple little leather ring holder from Tiffany's from my mother. She's like that. Always sensing on the lower frequencies when someone in the world needs a push. Always giving it in a sly and nuanced way. At 28, I think I'm growing into her, nay, I hope I am growing up to be her. Medicine keeps you apart from your family so much of the time that your only left with words. So. I love you, Mom. And thanks.