It was probably written in early February or late January. I found it written on a piece of lined paper torn from a legal pad. It’s not been a few weeks, but those feelings are in so many ways so distant, almost forgotten.

I am tired of convalescing.
I am tired of no one to share ideas with [I couldn't handle the energy and chaos of spending time with C&D upstairs, but we couldn't of course leave C&D to their own devices just so someone could keep me company!]
I am having trouble write [sic] and can’t practice [probably from the computer headaches I still have] and am frustrated.
Frustrated that my house is a disaster.
Want to write and can’t write as fast as I can type.
Upstairs like a gorilla walking.

Can’t express mightself [sic], might as well not have fingers.

Two visitors this week. Talked until I was dizzy but still didn’t want them to leave.

Doctor and nurse puppet [This was my biggest stroke of genius during that time period. When C&D couldn't ignore the scar on my head, I bought a puppet doctor, nurse, police officer, and firefighter so we could sing the song "Police officer, firefighter, the doctor and the nurse, they help us when we're hurt, they help us when we're hurt, they help us when we're hurt." It's from a Signing Time DVD (maybe the "My Neighborhood" volume). Then I told C&D a story which they could recite back. "Mommy hurt head. Doctor fix it. Nurse fix it. Mommy sleeping." They seemed satisfied with the explanation, which they remind me of several times a week.)

I want my mom. I want someone who has an eye for me. I want someone to totake [sic] care of house. [She might fuss and she might hover, but the commercials are right. When you're sick, you want to go home, and you want Mom. She knows all your peculiarities, already.]