It is 9:15 PM on Sunday night and I have not written one sentence to you yet. I am typing this letter into the memory; the direct typing is faster but not as neat.

I have been sitting at the table since around 1:00 PM. I did get the four blog pages typed and five letters to the various companies you so kindly supplied the address to, actually four are for the address you sent, the fifth one is for Dick Blick. Here is hoping that the mail room does not deep six the envelopes on the way out.

I did type one and half pages to Mom and Dad, about the book "Blood Done Sign My Name" that I finished the other day. I also mentioned about the unclaimed funds information you found and told them to let me know if that one address for Avenue N was possibly the correct one. I will let you know if they find anything.

I am still fighting to get out of the funk I am in. I have tried to keep up with the day to day tasks. I have managed to walk every morning so far, read two New York Times yesterday, and do a few crossword puzzles and take a stab at the cross sums. I am going to finish off the Killer Angels in the next day or so.

I am in dire need of some emotional uplifting. You are a real bright spot in my existence and I am not missing anything from you.

Part of the funk is the unanswered questions I have asked of my parents, how often to call for example, and the lack of a response to my order for the correct AC adapter for my radio, the kitchen utensils I asked for, and wondering if they are coming to see me this weekend.

I go through this every year, my birthday comes and I think that this is the year they will come visit me on my Birthday. I know it is a trek and a hassle for them but I guess the lack of an open dialogue is what hurts the most.

Well it almost count time so I will sign off now and come back after the count to proof and print.  ¶ 6:42 PM