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Hayden: I'm sorry. I really hate to see you depressed. I never give the right answers. After all the time you've known me, I still don't like being asked questions that require talking to my emotional self. My emotional acre is not fenced in, but usually overgrown to the point of escape. Someday when Laurel is enough that I see her off to school and get some time away from her, I will sit down and weed it out. There are a lot of things I need to weed in my life, and your offers of assistance are appreciated although I rarely take you up on them.

I can never say thanks enough for what I have taken you up on, though -- I loved the vast majority of my last visit and am quietly glad we didn't have to hear the conclusion of Barber's Medea's Meditation and Dance of Vengeance when we were at the symphony. The Beethoven and Brahms selections were far better. In my current absence of faith, music is as close to religion as I get, although cheese is divine. (So's having my ass kicked by Michael at Dead or Alive at 0300, but those days are long in the past. We never did get the cute waitress at Waffle House.)

I'm rambling and you know what that means. I honestly am sorry for being a part of your depression. I'd love to see you smile again, to hear you happy, and to discuss the cat tree again. Point me in the direction of surfaces to paint and you may regret it later, though that'll wait until I finish Sarah's undersea mural and post pictures. This weekend is warm enough that I might even get to painting some of the furniture, which could be a scary prospect given her packrat tendencies.

I'll throw a picture of my left hand into the package I'm mailing your way this weekend. When moving my CD rack upstairs, I found a jewel case of Return to Castle Wolfenstein mixed in with the CDs I (lazy me, I know) hadn't yet refiled from the February visit. That'll be in the box too... anything I'm forgetting? Hmmm... oh, yes. A great big *hug* and reminder that next time you're in Denver, dinner's on me. Screwdrivers at Jose O'Shea's are optional, but not on another Cinco weekend.

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Melissa, starry-eyed soy-lovin' Expatriated Zulu

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