Sunday, December 22, 2002
in the basement, which keeps minorly flooding some papers were unearthed, medical records from my old neurologist when i was a young kid. decided to read them, and i'm glad i did. apparently when i was 23 months i had the language skills of almost a four year old. the doctor was impressed.
sometimes i doubt that writing is my gift, that i'm just faking it and am not really that good. reading things like that make me think different.
not that it helps any with feeling this christmas is not going well at all. the greatest gift would be for someone to sneak in at night, put up a tree, decorated of course, and steal away never letting me know they were there.
not likely that'll happen, eh? no tree for me this year.