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February 1, 2003
Closure dreams haunt my sleep, leaving me fuzzy-brained and exhausted. A prince frog in a paper bag, a sad shadow mopping up. Disturbing premonitions of dad losing his mind. What did all those bathrobes mean?

My waking hours are filled with reminders that patience is the lesson du jour. Recall something from a Wayne Dyer book about how we spend our lives looking for that special someone to teach us what we need to learn, then after we find him/her, we go kicking and screaming into the classroom. I am SO reluctant to assume my usual role as teacher’s pet.