Spring Cleaning

Dear Diary:

It’s been a few weeks since I bought you and I haven’t even opened you once since that first day. I’m so ashamed. I’ve just been so busy I haven’t had a single moment to myself.

Where to begin…

Research is promising. We’re still in the very early stages, but I’m confident. More confident than I’ve ever felt about any of my academic work, actually. Considering I had a 4.0+ average my entire life and graduated valedictorian from every school I’ve attended, that’s really saying something.

Mason has been driving me to work. He is the Director of Security for the company’s Leiden office where we work. It’s very quaint, carpooling. I get to see more of him. Although, his whole reasoning behind driving was to free my brain up for thinking about this waveform theorem. It’s like I’m being pulled by two magnets. My career on one side, and my husband on the other.

But that’s not exactly right; in this case, my husband is actually standing on the other side. And I’m standing alone, fighting to maintain some semblance of normalcy. Why can’t I let go?

I need to get lost in this. And don’t think it hasn’t been going well sweet Diary. It’s been life-changing already. Still, some distant voice inside is suddenly urging me to savor every moment I have with Mason now, while I still can.

Something did occur to me today. If there is a way to generate a frequency that crosses an unknown spectrum—like the one our consciousness passes at the moment of death—we would have to isolate it. I have no idea how that’s going to work, but I’m chewing it little by little.

One more thing. I talked to Dr. Soliman about this today. If we can identify the frequency where sound interacts with another real dimension, we need it to be tethered. There’s nothing to gain from blasting vibrations into a void. It has to be testable; retrievable, somehow. That’s going to complicate things.

Mason and I have been doing some Spring cleaning today. I found a box full of old paintings I did during college. Then I did what I always do: spread them across the floor so I can see them all at once. No order to it, no method. Just pure, perfect chaos.

Mason hates it. It’s been a fun day.

I’ll try to write more often, Diary. Twice a month is just embarrassing. And you still need a name, I haven’t forgotten.

Til then, with love.

 

 

Amara