I just finished a very strange, horrible, warped, sad, completely addictive book called The Book of Lost Things. I highly recommend it. It's one of those kind of books that I could absolutely not predict the ending and I had to continue reading it until I was done, which was last night at 11pm.
I've been weepy for three days. Maybe longer than that. Just at the drop of a hat, I start the waterworks. Maybe it's the move and the strangeness of it all (Jessica, we're moving to Jackson, MS so that Quinn can finish seminary). I feel very selfish about the whole thing and have been feeling the urge to detach myself from anything concerning it. Except that now the move date is so close that I feel the pressure to actually make sure I get things done. I feel like I am being unsupportive and cruel to my husband, who is pursuing a call to ministry. I love him and want to stop being an emotional wreck.