and she's off
Tomorrow the Girlchild is off to Manhattan for her month as an intern. It is past eleven at night, and she has yet to put one thing in her suitcase.
I refuse to panic. I refuse to get drawn into a discussion, much less an argument.
I am going to bed. When I get up at seven, I will reassess my position on panic, and arguments. Then we will get in the car and drive two hours to the Seattle airport.
I hope to post something about writing as soon as I've regained my normal calm and serene nature.
cough.