Mornings are the hardest. I usually forget where I am, and everything that has happened.
When I walk to work and school a young boy and girl have started following me. They are a bit creepy. I think they might be one of them. I haven't confronted them about it yet, because they are so young. Yet it worries me.
The copies of the old masters are consuming me. Such beautiful, beautiful pictures. I am trying to pick out the ones that children will like the best. Others I set aside for myself. They are only prints; perhaps the director will let me take some of the ones we don't use.
I've dusted off one of my introductory art history books to read up on some of these artists. I have forgotten so much.
