Friday, again. Obsessing about tires this morning. All too expensive and I'd rather not spend money on rubber. Comparing brand after brand for over an hour and just a waste of time. Then I looked at the clock. Nine Twenty-Seven. My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. I took a deep breath as I thought of you and your last lonely steps. I tried to fight back the tears and it hurt my throat to do so. So I went from obsessing about tires to looking for your lost adapter even though you don't need it anymore. I looked and found an old photo album in your drawer. You have so many things in there. You never threw anything out. I found the little yellow fuzzy chick that chirps from when you were six or so. It still works too. And the dogs came running just like before when they heard it. Obsessing about the adapter lead to obsessing about other things that reminded me of you. I didn't want to go there today and fought traffic to Wal-Mart for hunting gear. I found the ammo I've been looking for but they changed the color of the box. So now I'm obsessing over if it's the right ammo. I wish you were here to tell me. I tried to read the instructions on the BOSS system but couldn't concentrate. You knew how to fine tune it and did it on our rifle. If this is different ammo, what am I to do. Federal won't answer their help line. The product number is different and not on their website. The box is the color of the boxes on their website. I wish you were here. I hate this. I need to feed the animals but can't concentrate. I tried to watch Dexter and drink beer. But that didn't work. You sighted this rifle in for us, now it's just me. And I don't know what to do. Bad day. Things need to be done but I'm thinking about the color of the box and the product number. I don't want Brandon to miss his first deer. It would have been yours. Probably.
