November 12. Apparently not a single musical instrument in our house is in tune. We play on anyway.
November 13. I'm so tired of writing mad, but there's no end in sight. Good thing I stopped for coffee, at least.
November 15. As she walked us back to the cells, she said she knew a prisoner who said he had forgotten what tree trunks look like. I never feel so blessed as when I get home from there.