I feel like talking but there's no one here. I've been washing my dishes every night for the past couple of weeks because I read somewhere that the way to become a person who keeps a tidy apartment is to keep a tidy apartment. It's a steady clean clear area in my cluttered house.

I taught mentally challenged third graders about "I want" and "I want to" this morning. We played a white elephant type game and then go fish, and then a fill in the blanks thing plus a review about telling time. It went smoother than I expected. The special first graders were in a bad mood when I taught them last Tuesday, and then their abilities are different and I didn't put as much effort into that lesson, so what can I expect.

You're not here, so I'm talking to myself.

Last week I went to the Mormon chapel, did I mention that? I want to see if I can make it mine, somehow, instead of Mormonism being an accident of birth. Y'know. Like mental retardation, or a crooked finger. I want to demote it from worldview to heritage experience. If I completely stop engaging with it, it'll always be ingrained in me. That's probably unhealthy.

It's been a busy week. I want to go grocery shopping, but it's so cold, and I really enjoy laying in bed.

The elders are not lookers, but they're white and male and American and around my age so I feel myself drawn to them. I think I have to be careful about that. They're so like me, but also so very very not. I have to keep reminding myself—Matthew, these boys do not care about you. They're here to proselyte for a church in which you were burned for years. They may want what's best for you, but their idea of what that is is very different from yours. So be careful.

Anyway. If you were here tonight, I dunno. I might ask to cuddle and then fall asleep on you. I'm feeling young and vulnerable. I'm tired.