Waiting.

I have no idea what I will get accomplished this weekend. There may be other letters heading your way before the Monday morning mail pick up, there may not be.

Since this only line of communication is good old snail mail, and even thought this will be sitting in a mail box about fifty yards from where I now sit, I sort of hope that there will be a slight lessening of the oppressive nature of this day.

It is a very weird procedure. I go to a parole board interview on Tuesday, and then hang in limbo till 3:30 PM today (Friday) to find out if I am being told, "Congratulations, you are being kept for at least another two years!"

Could be me, but the conclusions of the Parole board make very little personal sense.

Thanks again for all your assistance and support as I prepared and participated in this folly. It is good to have some real friends out there.