March 26, 2004
Back at the Crimson Tower, it is late in the evening by the time I complete the necessary chores. I give up on making any more progress on my homework assignment for Hawaii and give in to the impulse to listen to Sarah McLachlan. I set all the candles in the room burning, their gentle glow protecting me from the dark night. The beeswax scent is so comforting as the album that always unravels me fills the air. Settling on the floor as the kitties join me, I finally have a good cry, one that is probably now long overdue.