And though Daniel might have an uncanny ability to put on the very record that I'm thinking or feeling, that doesn't mean that he puts on records that I should hear. This one being no exception. I think about listening to it so often - I sing the songs to myself while riding to work - I whistle them in the post office to hear the reverberations. Yet, I haven't chosen to listen to it for months, just as I haven't been able to take out any of the CDs you made for me. I can't do any of it without thinking about that day that finally came a Washington rain. I think I rained until Oregon. The clouds cut out just past Seattle. I listened to nothing but the songs you pieced together for me in the shop - between sessions of sobbing and heaving in the dark dressing room. I drove to California, then to Texas thinking that I was going the wrong way. The interstate numbers piled up: 5, 8, 10, 20, 35.

I may have made it back to the 5, but dear I'm still just around the corner from the 94.