Sometimes I have no idea why people ask me for advice. A dash for a book and paper turns into a thirty-minute lesson in patience and listening. Just what people need: my own brand of Instant Patience in a Can. Especially when I had just been done having no patience myself. Where do I get this shit, anyway? I didn't pick any up at Shaw's last week. Thankfully, my lack of patience was resolved. Thank you, Shannon, for waiting for me to simmer...God knows it takes me way too long. Ironically enough, my weekend was great. I had a great homecoming, everyone was happy, and Saturday night especially was a riot. When an Uno game can go for a solid hour, there's plenty of room for rambunctious competition. The only part that bothered me about Saturday was this: Shannon had a better time at my house with my family than she had with her family. That's sad. The ride home left something to be desired. Mostly due to negative elements, on the ride to Bath, I spent half of the trip wearing a Kevin-Spacey-shit-eating-grin on my face. No one should have a reason to wear that grin. And, on the ride back to Orono, I got to sit in the back seat and choose between getting fried under my blue-but-almost-black fleece and blinding myself with the intense glare of the Sun. Not fun. At all. That, and I dug up a couple of emails and letters from the past that profoundly disturbed me. It felt so strange to read those things...to think about them. They were all so long ago. The paper was even yellow, it was so old. It's funny how the archaeology of your past can still pick at your mind and cause you to wonder. The more digging you do...