"I like your soul much more now. I like my soul much more now."
Much too much has happened.

The old prick who lives beneath us called the fuzz on us Saturday night. Six people climbed out the kitchen window and hid on the roof while the rest of us stayed and produced our identification with distaste. Nothing happened with the exception of a seemingly concise lecture and talk of how noise is not much appreciated at certain hours of the morning.

In the morning I awoke to discover a boy sleeping on our kitchen floor. I didn't know who he was, who he came with or how he even ended up in my house. Someone came to get him eventually. His friend told me that about two months ago the sleeping boy had come home from the war. I guess drinking himself silly and blacking out  is the way he has taught himself to cope with his PTS condition. In that moment I didn't know what feeling to identify with: complete and utter heartbreak for him and the life he now has to lead or rage that our country damages people and finds them dispensable.

"It's fucked what they do to people and get away with, you know?"
"Yes. I know."

I helped put the sleeping boys shoes back on while I watched his friend coax him back to consciousness. I realized that this whole scene must be familiar to him now. I don't think I will forget that morning for a good while.

Despite the unwanted arrival of the fuzz, the weekend still had its high points. Jeff and Kristi stayed with us all weekend and we even got to spend Easter together. There are few things more adorable than four grown twenty-something year olds sitting cross legged around a unstable coffee table eating chocolate eggs and watching The Food Network.

If this is what you call dysfunctional, I will continue to welcome it and embrace it.

Also, over the weekend it was decided that Karina will be living with us. I really can't express how happy I am at the idea of it all. I like her soul much more now.

I predict dueling typewriters in the early morning and time-lines made of yarn and polaroids lining our ceiling.