Forgive me, I forgot to write until late! Holidays have thrown time off once again. How are you? How are you doing?
I’ve already eaten all the candy, got more at work, and ate that too. Aaron’s gone to stay with a sick friend for awhile, so Mom and I are watching whatever we like. Keep a secret for me: I am sick of TV shows. There are far too many of them. I have desperately tried to read more, but always fail; I think my screens are robbing me of my other hobbies, alas, alas!… I hope only for something else for you. I sometimes wish they’d never been invented, but then I could not write to you, which makes this worth it.
I did little today but work, and nothing this week that I remember, so I have little of interest to tell you. My doctor gave me a book called The Beekeeper’s Apprentice which I enjoy very much, and which my addiction issues (I cannot call them anything more delicate, and less prone to scrutiny, for I cannot think of any better word) keep me from. You liked the fairy books once, I think, those with titles like Sophie the Rose Fairy and suchlike. I can’t think of anything else. I can’t even be sure of it. Time is a pit of mud to me and all my memories lost coins. It has been far longer for you, though, so I have little to complain of; between ages nine and eleven is a pit that has made your time away from me far longer than mine from you, and if your memory is like mine you have suffered far more for it.
Forgive me for not writing much: it is late and I work early tomorrow. Tomorrow’s sleep will be better. I would send you good dreams were I magical, but alas. Sleep well. Do not fall into the temptation to stay up past 1 AM; the devil of daytime scheduling has been cruel to me for it. On weekends, like today though, it is alright. Goodnight, dear Soren. I wait here for you always.
With love,
Alice