Nate’s been sleeping for an hour already. But I’m sitting here, restless, thoughts running in different directions, and a heaviness- still a heaviness. It’s hung around from last week, took some time off on Sunday, then revisited this evening and now refuses to let me sleep. I dreamed a lot last night, and they were not happy dreams by any stretch. So I woke up and went for a drive this morning (something I rarely do in LA). And I did some (more) thinking. This week marks the one year anniversary of the beginning of several of the worst weeks of my life. I really should refrain from writing more at this point since it’s late, and anything that flows from fingers to keyboard will most surely be terribly melodramatic. I was hoping, though, that you’d let me retell the story at some point. I’ve come to a better understanding of the benefits of telling and retelling stories of grief/loss– in my Grief, Loss, Death, and Dying class this quarter (phew, imagine sitting through three straight hours of this material every Tuesday night!). But for now… I’ll crawl under the covers with a book until my eyes are mercifully heavy enough to let me sleep.