Today was much better. I participated in Brickfest activities most of the day, including building part of the huge hotel that will be on display. After lunch, I took a long nap and then went to dinner with the guys and back to the fest. Now, I am being a total geek, sitting in the bar with my laptop with the Dans one on either side of me with their laptops as well. One is programming and the other is installing mysql and I'm blogging. Random geekiness abounds.

Today was hard. First, it’s exactly a week to the day since Sarah died. Second, I’m in Portland and the last time I was in Portland I was with Sarah. Third, it’s Brickfest and the last time I was at a Brickfest event I was with Sarah. This afternoon, I went to Powell’s and I had a hard time walking around. Sarah and I roamed that store for what seemed like hours and hours the last time I saw her. That was in December, when she was on her way to Mom’s. I got to spend one day with her. Finally, it’s been 17 days since the last time I spoke to her and that’s a really long time for us.

This weekend is Brickfest in Portland. I already registered and paid to go. I don't want to go, but Dan has talked me into going anyway. He is one of the organizers, so he has to go. They are depending on him to run his event and whatnot. I think that Sarah would want me to go, but I just don't have the energy to explain to various random people that I only see at these events once in a blue moon where my daughter is. Dan pointed out that a change of scenery, a strange hotel room (where every little knick knack and mark on the wall won't remind me of Sarah) might be good for me right now, better than being in the apartment.

My daughter -- along with two of her best friends, all three Sara(h)s -- was killed in a terrible car crash on Friday, March 16, 2007 at around 4:30 in the afternoon CDT. I'll never forget that date as long as I live.

When my dad called to tell me, at first I didn't feel anything. I felt absolutely nothing except a vague feeling of worry for my dad because he was so sad. I started to wonder if I was a bad mom or even a bad person because I just didn't feel anything at all. It wasn't until I heard Dan calling his work to say he would be out -- until I heard him say what my dad had already told me -- that I sort of broke. I sort of collapsed and found myself completely unable to move or to think. I found it difficult even to breathe. I went to bed, but I didn't sleep. When I got up the next morning, I had somehow convinced myself that it was all a mistake. Sarah couldn't be gone. It was just too big to believe. The car burned up. Maybe Sarah wasn't actually in it. Maybe they had dropped her off somewhere. Surely she'd call soon and tell us that it was OK, that she was alright.

I am having a hard time articulating. Keith Olbermann's Commentary on George Bush's rose garden press conference brought tears to my eyes. Finally, someone is calling Mr. President on his inappropriate, ineffective, unamerican actions and behaviors.

In case anyone was wondering.

Atheists and other free-thinkers frequently get accused of being "moral relativists." Most religionists seem to equate moral relativism with immorality, or the complete lack of any morals. Unfortunately, some free thinkers have a tendency to come across as though they don't believe in morals in their attempts to explain what their values are.

Clearly the mere fact that there isn't some supernatural being out there dictating our behavior does not negate the fact that there are natural laws at work in our world. We understand that there are physical laws at work. We see that if you drop something, it falls rather than flying up in the sky. We know that water becomes a solid at a certain temperature.

I just got finished reading Cory Doctorow's book, Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town. I'll write a review of it later, but suffice to say, it was disppointing.

I could relate to some of the characters, especially the main character. After all, my father is also a mountain, strong, aloof, implacable, seemingly ever-present and yet difficult to reach. When I was growing up, my mother was more than a washing machine, but only just. My family was alien and strange compared to the greater world-at-large, and I've always struggled to fit in and be normal, even though I have frequently had difficulty even figuring out what "normal" means. So, the main character was interesting. The story was not.