Written Monday, June 25, 2007

My mother called me on my birthday. While in ordinary life this may not seem like anything to be worried or feel awkward about, to me, ten days later, thinking about it still gives me a stomach-ache. It was the slight pleading in her voice that bothered me so much. I love you and I miss you, baby.

What do you love, though, and what do you miss. When I left I was very small. When I returned to you five years later, you were making potato salad and I desperately wanted you to notice how much I had done and where I was. Now it is almost another five years past that, and earlier this year I swore that I would never be the first to contact you again. I don't know what to do.

I have one more day off on my vacation. Today I will register the puppy (where are those papers, again?) and get some cleaning done.