That song from Sgt. Pepper’s, A Day In The Life? “And I fell into a dream…” and the music changes and fills and swells to a crescendo and then drops to that andante rhythm. That’s what the last year has felt like.

I spent it driving. (I miss driving. I never listen to my tunes any more. I never get time to sing along badly with nobody listening.) I thought and thought and thought. I went over all the crap that’s happened, except it wasn’t crap, it was just the way it is. I cried. I cried every day, Monday through Friday, for that whole year. And now I’m here, and here is pretty good.

I know all this how-de-doo, because we went to start digging around in the storage space on Sunday. The storage space is where a ton of stuff was dumped after I moved out of my ex’s house. It’s where a lot of my past got shoved away. So we can all imagine what trepidation went along with going there and looking in those boxes. Can you say, “little pink pill?”

Imagine our suprise, when we started opening up boxes and I started saying, “Oh wow! Yeah! Look at that!” and “Take that, Brother! You might have the Nikon, but I’ve got the case!” We won’t even talk about my shameful behavior when I discovered The Family Strawberry Shortcake Dishes. And the happy tears when we found my lamby, the one that led me to getting a fluoroscope when I was a wee thing because it was suspected that I had swallowed the bell.

The real test was when we found this picture. I was so glad. I was sure it was gone down some dark hole.

Me and Uncle Bri.

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I want to tell that girl back there, “hey, little sister – you make it through.”

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