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You know what?  I just spent the last hour and a half writing a big emotional story about my childhood.  It detailed all the divorces, the relocations, the passing back and for the between parents, the awkwardness and resentment of adolescence, the clashes with my little brother, the slow but dramatic reconciliations, the current state of gratitude that now exists mutually between us.  I cried while I wrote it.

But I have no interest in putting that up now.  I might do it later, but it feels wrong for this post.  It doesn’t match what I feel right now.

I have no job.  I am as yet unpublished as writer.  Emily Rose is sitting, unread, on a shelf.  My life is all a bit wishy-washy and directionless.  I’m eating a lot of Halloween candy.

None of that really matters right now though.  Everything feels right with the world.  Everything is great.  And that’s all because of this:

Stirling Baby

He or she is the size of a plum, has individual fingerprints, and can hear people speaking.

“Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man.”

Rabindranath Tagore

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