…salted lithium.

“Your uncle Timmy, and I mean this, on his best day, is never as tough as you. I’m not talking about crying or drugs or anything like that. I’m talking about in his heart. In his heart. Do you understand me? And all this charming bullshit. This Big Tim, Uncle Boss bullshit… and I know you love him and I know why… but when you see him like that you don’t have to worry… because that’s not how it’s going to be for you. You’re not going to be one of these people who goes through life wondering why shit keeps falling out of the sky around them. I know that. I know it. OK?”
“Michael Clayton” (2007); George Clooney, as ‘Clayton’, speaking to his son.

The weather has been clear and warm enough that I’ve been able to sit on my balcony with Victor in the afternoon.

It’s relatively quiet, the main road is on the other side of the building, so the traffic is mostly muted — when there is traffic. We have an incredible view from my chair. The trees haven’t bloomed yet, so I can still see the river, even though it’s ten miles away.

Then there are the mountains another five miles past the river, in another few weeks they’ll be a hundred shades of green, but right now they’re still purple and grey.

It’s very peaceful, just the two of us. He sits on my leg, and rests against my arm. I’m not sure what he can see, or what he’s looking at, but he finds something. Whatever it is it makes him happy to be near it, I’ve never seen or heard of a child who can find so much to laugh at. When he’s awake his natural state is ‘just happy’.

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