Coming home.

The Easter bunny came and brought me all sorts of cool chocolate goodies this morning because I'm at my parents' house and it's a magical place where this sort of stuff still happens even though I'm 20 years old.

At breakfast the soft boiled eggs magically turned blue, just like they always have, every single Easter. I used to love it because it was so magical and amazing that normal eggs that you eat for breakfast would suddenly be blue.

We visited one grandma last night. She was very spacey, but altogether more alert than she was the last time I saw her. She has a habit of forgetting what she's saying halfway through a sentence these days, but it doesn't seem to cause her any distress, so it's alright.

Today we'll go and see the other grandma once my dad stops practicing his mother-in-law avoidance by magically finding he has things to do, like digging a ditch across the garden.

We're also supposed to go see an exhibit of stuff from the Titanic down at the Maritime Museum. I prefer spending my Sundays doing cultural things like museums and going to the symphony to any of that Jesus stuff that people tell me I should do. How can Jesus be anywhere as enriching as classical music or opera or poetry readings or learning about history? I just don't see it.

My sister made pudding eggs the other day. They're good. Frick helped because she was hoping for handouts. That cat will eat anything these days. All her legs are hollow.