Sunday is almost at an end. I’m grateful for the reprieve the workweek will bring. He’s so hopeful, yet so unable to talk, to hear me. He’s so busy blaming himself, I don’t think he can see past his past.

We’ll be traveling to Washington D.C. next Sunday. I don’t know yet whether this is a good thing or not. Our last conference jaunt was fraught with tears and yelling. Both on my part, of course. It was not a fun trip.

It will be hard to be on my best behavior. There’s just something about hotels, strange cities, lobby bars, big beds. I could go on, but well, perhaps it’s best left in my fantasy imagination. Plus, when I have to travel with him, I inevitably have too much time on my hands, which only leads to me feeling too much.