Highlights: I dropped Tommy at Leigh, feeling continued distance, yet he reached out later and invited me to have breakfast at LG cafe. Note to self: the chicken apple sausage omelet was delicious and a nice change from the usual. I half expected him to use the opportunity to reveal whatever was on his mind, but no. Still, it was something. Perhaps he and I are so similar that his response to what he sees as my being problematic is to pull away. Mom called about being almost out of one of her medications. I needed to go over anyway, to set out the hope chest and dresser for pickup by one of the many cL responders, knowing the success rate to run about 20 % at best. Ironically, they were picked up and crushed onsite in the collection of assorted debris scheduled by Mom on the same day. There's a modest sting of regret felt about the loss of my idealized fantasy that the hope chest I knew all of my childhood, one I fit in as a hiding place before the idea that kids die locked abandoned in refrigerators was ever a thing, would have been lovingly restored by a master craftsman and sold at auction to a collector who would appreciate it almost as much as I have. Yet all that splintered into pieces as the red button on the trash compacting truck simultaneously crushed my hope and the chest in seconds. Yet the memories survive.