DAY TWENTY-NINE

I just finished reading the second part of Leo Tolstoy's Anna Karenina. I'm enjoying the story, it is 'capital.' Only, I can't help but feel like my subconscious is being dragged back to the mess she made in the house, rapped on the nose with a magazine, and told how bad she is.

Furthermore, my husband was not so cold as Alexey Alexandrovich and his ears certainly didn't stick out quite so much. I thought about him a great deal last night. I thought about all the amazing things we did together. The most difficult memories are the most recent ones. The ones where we were together, but I was a million miles away.