Zelda did not return to Oregon, or she did not visit with the children or I while here. I’m fine with that.
Papers were served on the 11th, and will come due on the next 11th.
Othello has been enrolled in school, and is excelling; he is working through the packets at about three times the rate he usually does, which is mildly spectacular. Not unexpected, mind you, but spectacular nonetheless.
He and I have been plotting the book we will write together. We’ve been going to the gym and are approaching the point where women will swoon at our aspect.
I have, finally, begun typing the 30,000 words that Aberdeen has explained is necessary to purify my soul for our trip to Disneyland. Or the live sex show in Amsterdam. Or the Tupperware party in Bloomington, IL. Or whatever it is we’re doing that I’m not allowed to know about, and that she, Othello, and Bridgette are unbearably smug about.
I have my suspicions.
Bridgette’s granny is finishing her life, and will likely be done in days. This has been a difficult month, in many ways.