I read my blog sometimes. When I forget. I forget a lot these days. I’ve forgotten more than I’ve learnt, I’m sure. My grandmother used to tell me stories of her life and at some point during the seven years I lived with her, she began to repeat them. I saw on Facebook once this dumb story about a wolf and a father. Something about him repeating stories to his son, and when his son complained he said I washed you, clothed you, listened to you say the same things again and again as a child and you can’t listen to this? I used to think about that a lot. I would tell myself to be patient, but I would still snap and tell my grandmother, ‘I know’. Eventually she’d say, ‘well, you know everything, don’t you?’. It would make me so angry, and I couldn’t fathom why. I think now it’s because she was calling me out on my lack of patience, and I didn’t like it. Of course, when you lose someone all you want is more time. More time to know, and to ask questions and to hear the same stories aga